Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

DANICA

“How do you know this bar even hosts karaoke nights?” Izzy asked as the five friends stood on the sidewalk and looked up at the bar’s sign. In the breezy January night, the hokey old timey piece of wood swung back and forth over the door.

Danica shivered, pulled her coat tighter, and winced at some guy butchering Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing.” What did they ever do to that man to deserve that kind of treatment?

Maggie shrugged. “Google is your friend, Izzy.” She gave Izzy a teasing smile as she strutted through the doorway of the bar.

Kiera looped her arm through Danica’s and they followed Maggie in, Pete and Izzy right behind them. The bar was dimly lit by an elaborate chandelier that would have been more at home in Disney’s Haunted Mansion. Johnny Cash defiantly raising his middle finger on a painting over the stage as the centerpiece of a thrift store art collection on the wood-paneled walls, illuminated by a string of red Christmas lights that twinkled softly. It smelled like cheap beer and the floors were sticky. A lively and diverse mix filled the bar — tough-looking biker women in worn leather sat near tables of young men, their faces bearing the tell-tale ski-goggle tans.

“I owe you a drink,” Maggie said, pointing to Danica with her good arm. The other arm was in a sling, just like Danica had predicted, and wrapped in an ace bandage. Luckily, the wrist hadn’t been broken, and Maggie had been sent on her way with a recommendation to rest and ice her wrist.

“I think Pete owes us both drinks, considering she broke your arm,” Danica joked. She glanced back toward Pete, but didn’t find her. “Where’d she go?”

Kiera pointed toward the stage, where red lights cast a glow in Pete’s wild curls. The music had paused between performances, and Pete looked like she was savoring the drama of having all eyes on her. Of course she’d be the first to run up there, unable to resist a performance.

Pete adjusted the collar of her worn-in flannel shirt. The deep green and navy plaid pattern was faded from years of wear, its edges just starting to fray at the cuffs. Underneath, she wore a simple black crewneck t-shirt, its fabric soft and slightly stretched from frequent use. Her jeans, a pair of high-waisted, straight-leg black denim, were slightly cuffed at the ankle, revealing the worn leather of her sturdy Doc Marten boots. She nodded toward the man running the karaoke machine, then bowed low as she closed her eyes and began to sing, “ Hey now, hey now. ”

“Oh my god,” Danica groaned, wanting to cover her eyes but unable to look away as the cheesy, over-the-top synths and driving electro beats of Hilary Duff’s “What Dreams Are Made Of” pulsed through the room, a wave of early 2000s nostalgia washing over her. The crowd’s murmur of confusion shifted to amused recognition as Pete launched into her enthusiastic, almost painfully earnest, Lizzie McGuire-inspired dance.

Danica immediately flashed back to their college karaoke bar. The Inn had been notorious for not caring about fake IDs. It had a shitty carpeted — carpeted! — bar with a half-dead jukebox and bartenders who acted annoyed whenever someone ordered anything but a bottled beer. In the bartender’s defense, being the local bar for a college was probably not a profitable or stress-free situation, catering to a crowd of 19-year-olds with fake IDs and a love for dollar beer night.

Those were the days of wearing blazers, layered tank tops, or body con dresses to the bar, topped with a statement necklace and a Bump-It. Pete had gone through a phase of cargo shorts and Abercrombie polos, always with the collar popped. What they lacked in timeless style, they made up for in a startling ability to drink for hours, stay up late having sloppy drunk sex, and then go to an 8 a.m. class the next day. Ah, to have the metabolism and tenacity of a college kid again.

They’d had their first kiss immediately after a duet of this very song. The lingering scent of cheap beer and sweat hung in the air as Pete kissed Danica on stage, the room echoing with applause.

Maggie nudged Danica and she looked up to see that Pete was pointing at her. “Come on, Wendell, do the Lizzie part,” she said into the microphone, causing some in the crowd to glance Danica’s way.

Danica shook her head vehemently, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. Lizzie McGuire in a college dive bar was one thing; Lizzie McGuire in a rich resort town was another.

To Danica’s surprise, a random woman from the crowd hopped onto the low stage with the rallying cry, “Sing for me Paolo!” Pete howled with laughter, leaning into the performance with the woman, who also knew every word.

A server carrying a tray full of tiny plastic containers of colorful jello shots passed near the table and Danica flagged her down, desperate to focus on anything other than Pete and the woman on stage. The last time she’d considered a jello shot had probably been in college, but she needed something immediate. Curiosity and unexpected annoyance made her look back at the stage, where Pete was holding the woman in a prom pose as they sang the last few lines of the song, gazing at each other dramatically.

Something not quite as intense as jealousy simmered under her skin, and she tried her best to shove it far, far down. She and Pete had a history, but were not together in any way. Therefore, she had no right to be jealous of anything Pete did. Still, did Pete have to be so extra, twirling the stranger and lowering her into a dip as the song ended to raucous applause? Pete was just being classic Pete — life of the party, outgoing, flirtatious. After all, hadn’t she pulled a similar stunt with Danica for their first kiss?

Pete made her way through the crowd, grabbing a jello shot off the table and raising it in a cheers motion as Maggie and Izzy gave her high fives. Pete’s piercing dark eyes settled on her, one eyebrow cocked in silent question, and Danica felt the weight of that scrutiny. She got the feeling that Pete was daring her to say something, daring her to remember the first time they’d sang that song.

The recognizable first metallic guitar strums of “The Sweet Escape” by Gwen Stefani distracted Danica, and then she saw Kiera on the stage holding a microphone. Immediately upon the realization, Danica turned into a woo girl, shouting as Kiera hit the first few strange “ Woo hoo, yee hoos ” of the song.

“I didn’t know Kiera had it in her,” Izzy remarked, running her finger around the rim of her jello shot to loosen it.

Danica frowned. “Kiera loves karaoke, are you kidding? She used to perform this at every karaoke night.” Danica turned back to the stage to find Maggie standing beside Kiera and singing the backup vocals. She couldn’t help but laugh, and cheered her friend on. Kiera was adorable and in her element, all round cheeks and Mom-bob and goofy dance moves.

“That night at the Inn — you remember?” Pete whispered, too close to her ear.

Awareness prickled along her skin and she turned to look up at Pete. “Nope.”

Pete chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Liar.” How was her voice a purr as she said the word?

Heat flushed in Danica’s cheeks, despite her best attempts to not let Pete’s closeness affect her. Of course, she knew what Pete was talking about, but she’d rather gnaw off her left arm than let Pete know that. She shifted, stepping away from Pete as Maggie jumped into a rousing rendition of the “ woo hoo, yee hoo ” hook to close out the song, attempting to wave her slinged arm in the air over her head. Danica tamped down her doctor-panic and instead laughed, shaking her head. The three of them cheered as Kiera and Maggie left the stage, making their way back through the packed tables.

A drink was passed to her, and Danica was surprised to see that Izzy was offering it to her. She mumbled a thanks, watching with piqued interest as Izzy offered Pete the same type of drink. It smelled sweet, and Pete took a sip. “Rum and coke,” she explained over the sound of someone else beginning a song.

Kiera reappeared at the table, and Danica squeezed her arm with excitement. “How are we supposed to follow that?” she teased. Kiera grabbed the last jello shot, using her tongue to scoop out the jello, then chewed with a grimace. “You’re supposed to just swallow,” Danica said, laughing again.

“I can hardly swallow an Advil, you think this cup of jello is going down in one piece? No, thank you,” Kiera said around a mouth full of green jello.

Danica crinkled her nose. “You’re a delicate flower.”

“I can’t believe you missed a swallowing joke there,” Maggie said, holding a clear drink. “Low hanging fruit.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my breasts that way,” Kiera said with mock defensiveness.

Danica sputtered, wiping at her mouth, and her gaze caught on Pete, who was standing across the table watching her. Was it curiosity or memory that made Danica’s insides tighten with a thrill at the sight of those dark eyes watching her? Kiera wrapped an arm around Danica’s shoulders, leaning to take a drink of Danica’s drink, and Danica glanced away from Pete, distracted.

Another patron dropped the karaoke song list binder on their table and they flipped through, laughing about what songs they should choose. Maggie immediately claimed a Britney Spears song, and Kiera pleaded with Danica to sing “Islands in the Stream.” Izzy chose Alanis Morrisette’s “You Oughta Know.”

Two rum and cokes later, Danica was being dragged on stage next to Kiera, their clothes awash in a rainbow of colors from an awkward party light. “I changed the song,” Kiera told her with a wink, just before the iconic first notes of Shania Twain’s “Man! I Feel Like a Woman” began. Danica was delighted and felt the joy rising in her chest like bubbles. She barely yelled, “ Let’s go, girls! ” in time.

Maybe it was the song, maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the freedom of singing karaoke in a town where you knew no one. Or maybe it was the fact that she was on vacation, or that she was back with friends she’d once spent every day with during such a happy time in her life, but Danica could feel the tension dissipating from her body as she sang, not caring about anyone else in the bar, anything else in her life. A great singer, she was not, but she could sing on-key and hit most of the notes. As she was scream-singing about the prerogative to have a little fun, she looked out across the bar, over the tables packed with people who were either singing along or completely ignoring her. Pete, taller than most, watched her with a strange expression on her face, a combination of amusement and something else Danica couldn’t quite figure out, something like tenderness.

The song ended and Maggie was on stage singing “Miss New Booty” before Danica and Kiera had even made it back to the table.

A few minutes later, Danica stood in the small, dark hallway waiting for the single-stall bathroom to open up. She fanned her face, flushed from the alcohol or from the intensity of Pete’s stare. Her imagination often ran far wilder than she’d wished it would, but she couldn’t be imagining the growing familiarity, the rising tension between her and Pete. It was the same spark of attraction that had always sparked between them nearly twenty years before, when they were just eighteen-year-old idiots with bad fake IDs.

Danica ran a hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face. Water, space away from Pete, and time would quiet this feeling. Alcohol had always made her extra stupid about Pete, and she blamed it for a number of wrongs, including their first kiss, the first time she’d ever said I love you, and also the only time she’d ever begged Pete to just be with her, to just choose her. Pathetic.

That last time had been only a few months before graduation, and Danica had felt Pete slipping through her fingers already. No matter how tightly she held, Pete was always just out of reach, like she’d been grasping at the shadow of what could be instead of the reality of what was.

The memory ached in Danica’s chest even after all this time, and only worsened when Pete turned the corner and entered the hallway where Danica stood. Time seemed to stretch, and she could see every detail of Pete’s approach: the way her shoulders moved, the determined set of her jaw, the almost palpable intensity radiating from her. Desire?

“Wendell,” Pete said quietly when she reached Danica, Pete’s strong fingers wrapping gently around Danica’s hand.

Pete’s hand, warm and surprisingly rough against her skin, sent a jolt of heat up Danica’s arm, despite her thick sweater. Pete glanced around for privacy, then moved to guide Danica further down the hall, out of sight from the main bar area.

“What do you want?” Danica asked, her entire body tensing in coiled anticipation.

“I want ...” Pete pushed her own hair away from her face, the dark curls taking on a life and a defiance of gravitational law all their own. Danica ached to dig her fingers into those dark curls, remembering exactly how they’d felt in her hands, exactly the way Pete’s voice used to hitch when Danica would gently tug on the strands. “Jesus, Wendell, I know exactly what’s going through your mind.”

Danica forced her face into a neutral expression. “I doubt that.” A bad lie, but she had to lie. She couldn’t reveal just what she wanted from Pete. Why should she trust Pete? The sparks between them were attraction, familiarity, and intrigue. Nothing serious. But giving into this feeling had serious implications. A girl could daydream all she wanted, but honestly acting on those thoughts? She couldn’t, wouldn’t, open her heart up like that again.

Pete’s tongue darted over her full lower lip, followed by her teeth dragging across the sensitive skin. “Tell me you’re not thinking about kissing me,” she stated, her voice lower.

“I’m not,” Danica protested.

“Tell me you don’t want me to,” Pete said, stepping forward so Danica’s back came up against the wall. Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief and amusement as she leaned closer, all coconut and apricot sweetness directly contradicting the smoldering look on her face.

Danica focused on remembering how to stand, wishing her knees weren’t so close to giving out. Her body was embarrassingly melting into a puddle of adoration for this woman all over again, like it didn’t remember how quickly Pete had discarded her at the end of college. Memories of the fight on the quad rushed back, and she gave Pete a long, questioning look.

Pete’s nose brushed hers, and — goddamn her traitorous body — she was leaning in. Even over the sound of a decent Blondie impersonation, she could hear Pete’s breath, rapid and short. Excited.

Knowing she affected Pete, too? That sent a shiver of anticipation up her spine.

Pete bent to brush her lips against the shell of Danica’s ear and Danica fought to keep her eyes from closing in delight at the sensation. The hand she’d placed on Pete’s chest to push her away closed around the fabric of her shirt instead. Pete’s voice was a whisper. “You’ve been thinking about kissing me for days, haven’t you?”

Danica’s knee-jerk response was to lie, to tell her no, to cradle her pride close, but she bit her lower lip, stifling a response. And yet, with the way Pete’s eyes darkened and slid down to her mouth, that was a response enough.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Kiera stepped out, pausing when she saw the two of them in the dark corner, Pete bent so close. With a jolt, Danica straightened, springing back from Pete; the sudden movement making the air crackle between them.

“Everything okay?” Kiera asked, her voice suspiciously calm.

“Yeah,” Danica said, not elaborating as she stepped away from Pete and took Kiera’s arm, walking back towards the bar. Her heart pounded and her breaths were shaky, but Kiera was a welcome distraction. Danica didn’t dare look over her shoulder, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs, the proximity of another kiss with Pete a dangerous temptation.

“I think I’m a little too drunk,” Kiera said, glancing over her shoulder toward Pete. “You seem a little drunk, too. Should we call a ride and get back to the house?”

Danica nodded, catching her meaning. Kiera was giving her an out to leave the bar and put some distance between her and Pete. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

Of course, Maggie called dibs on one of the two captain’s chairs in the back of the minivan rideshare, Izzy sliding into the other. That left Danica squeezed in the back seat between Kiera and Pete. Each time Pete’s leg brushed hers, a jolt of awareness shot through Danica, making her breath catch; she stared resolutely ahead, determined to ignore the fluttering in her stomach.

Kiera’s phone buzzed with a text from her husband, Alex, who had sent her pictures of the girls in their pajamas, smiling with post-bath combed hair. Kiera turned her phone to show Danica and Pete, and Pete made an aww sound of cuteness-approval.

“You did a very good job making them extremely cute,” Danica affirmed, laying her head on Kiera’s shoulder.

“I did, didn’t I?” Kiera responded, and Danica could hear the smile in her friend’s voice.

The van stopped in front of the condo and they piled out, Pete taking her hand to steady her as she climbed out the sliding door. She could feel Kiera’s gaze on her as Danica took just a beat too long to let go of Pete’s hand.

“Who wants a night cap?” Pete said, unwinding her green scarf to hang near the front door.

Maggie and Izzy immediately said yes, but Kiera yawned, pointing to her room. “I think I’m going to call Alex and get the daily report.”

“Oh, I guess I should do that, too,” Maggie said, frowning.

Danica watched a flicker of concern cross Pete’s face as she turned to Maggie. Pete’s expression was a mixture of worry and contemplation, clearly considering Danica’s earlier comment on Maggie’s odd mood.

“Wendell, you in?” Pete asked, turning to smile toward Danica. She glowed when she smiled, those full lips parting in a wide smile, like she couldn’t hold back her happiness.

“Nah, I’ve got a hot date with my cross stitch and solitude,” Danica said.

“Loser,” Maggie teased, as Danica and Kiera walked down the hall toward their rooms.

“You okay?” Kiera asked Danica once they were out of earshot of the group.

Despite her fluttering excitement, Danica nodded calmly. She just couldn’t admit that to Kiera. Not yet.

“What happened with Pete?” Kiera asked, dropping her voice lower. “Did I catch you guys making out?”

Quickly shaking her head, Danica’s cheeks flushed once more. “No, not at all.”

“Not at all or like, not yet?” Kiera clarified, skepticism in her voice.

“Not at all,” Danica said firmly. If she said it aloud, she could begin to believe it.

Kiera nodded, staring her down for what was quickly becoming an uncomfortable amount of time.

Danica held up her hands in surrender. “Seriously, nothing was going on.”

“Why were you standing so close if nothing was happening?” Kiera continued, her brow raised.

“Just talking,” Danica said, clearly a lie, and she watched Kiera contemplate calling her on it for a moment.

“If you say so.” Kiera finally shook her head and sighed, leaning in to hug Danica good night.

Danica walked into her room, feeling relief wash over her as she shut the door behind her. Kiera had made it seem like her surprised presence had been the only thing preventing them from full-on making out in the hallway. If Kiera hadn’t interrupted them, what might have happened? Danica touched her lower lip, then took her phone out of her pocket and sat down in the chair near the window. With her room lights off, she could see out over Mountain Village, the snowcats grooming the trails in the darkness. Her body was unexpectedly sore as she settled in the chair, holding up her phone to pull up Eddie’s contact. Her thumb gently tapped the red text of the “Block Caller” button.

The tension that had been dissipating ever since she’d butchered Shania Twain’s girl power anthem on stage was beginning to return. If Kiera hadn’t shown up… she knew exactly what would have happened? She could picture the hungry, urgent kiss, Pete pressing her back into the wall, her hands roaming freely over Danica’s body.

Heat flushed in her cheeks and she touched the cool window to snap herself out of that daydream.

She turned off her phone and tossed it on her nightstand, walking into the en suite to wash her face and brush her teeth. Those moments with Pete still felt surreal. One stolen moment in a bar and she was ready to dive right in. Maybe she was a little too drunk.

Her reflection in the dark mirror as she dried her face caught her off guard. She stared at her reflection while she washed her face and did her skincare, surprised that for the first time in a long time, she recognized herself again. How long had she avoided looking at herself before, not ready to face the tired, restless, unfulfilled person staring back at her?

She wiped the water from the counter, now a habit after Eddie always complained about her always making a mess when she washed her face. She changed into pajamas and climbed into bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. It still sometimes felt strange to crawl into bed and not have Eddie beside her, usually ignoring her until he fell asleep while reading some deeply stupid self-help book. She pictured Eddie now, alone in the quiet of their old bedroom, the only sound the gentle turning of pages as he read yet another book promising to unveil the true path to self-discovery. That image did make her feel slightly bad, but not bad enough to make her want to cry. It had taken her years to get over Pete, years of crying and feeling miserable. Why did it seem like there had been nothing to get over with Eddie?