C2 Amelia Rose

Caylie squeezed her already thin lips into a straight line.

“Sounds like he wants to get punched in the face with a bear paw.” Aria raised one eyebrow and smirked like it was a question.

Caylie shook her head, smiling, and continued. We were used to Aria’s antics after so many years of friendship. We loved her for it. “He seems jealous that my career is going better than his.” She raised her camera to get a picture of the bar. “Some of the advice he gives is just-” She moved her camera towards the stage area. An old black piano sat off to one side. Behind the piano was a closed red velvet curtain, and a sign pinned to the fabric with showtimes painted on it.

“So, it’s time to find a bear.” Aria threw her hands out and looked at us like she didn’t understand why we weren’t already on it. Caylie and I rolled our eyes and a whisper of a laugh escaped us. “Not a real bear.” She rolled her eyes right back at us. “A strong bear-like man. A hitman, but for fighting.” She picked up the rolled-up silverware and pointed it at Caylie. A question, an urging in her eyes, but also a glint of humor. Caylie didn’t respond.

She told us a few months ago she was falling in love with him. Caylie didn’t come to his defense even to joke. That told me how bad things were getting. A gloominess fell over her and her eyes seemed shadowed. She seemed to use her camera to avoid eye contact with us. Aria and I exchanged a look and knew we should switch gears.

We weren’t the type of friends who told each other who to date or not date. Besides, we knew she was strong enough to know when to fight for her man and when to leave. The drawn-out silence let us know Caylie didn’t want to linger on the topic. So, I put my hand on her leg and gave her a small half-smile before turning to my sister.

“Are you excited about Ryan getting out?” I smirked. We knew her secret. She was crazy about him, but she refused to fess up. Her instant smile was brighter than an interrogation light in an old detective movie.

“Oh, my gosh, yes.” She bit her bottom lip. “I miss his face, and everything else about him.” She sighed. “Three years is a long time to go without those dang curls in my fingers.” She bit harder and her eyes rolled back a little. I barked out a laugh, and Caylie shook her head, laughing silently. “Y’all so judgey.”

“Yes, we are.” I pointed at her, bouncing my wrist. “We’re definitely judging the orgasmic face you always make when you talk about him.” Caylie took a picture of me and Aria, laughing with us so hard that she was shaking her camera. She cursed, deleting the blurry pictures. “Just fess up already.”

“Yeah, well,” Aria slumped in her chair. All the humor sucked back out of the atmosphere that fast. “I wish I had the balls to tell him.” She ran her hand down her face, before face-planting onto the table. “But nope, God gave me lady parts instead.”

“Hey don’t lump us together with cowardice.” Aria grabbed her boot glass like she was going to down her drink, but stopped and twisted up her face; remembering it was tequila and psychedelic cactus water. “Not that I think you’re a coward,” I added after noticing Caylie’s questioning expression.

“I am a coward, though. I’ve been in love with him for over eight years and he has no idea that he moonlights as a stripper.”

“What?” Caylie put her camera on the table, laughing, although it sounded more like a grunt.

“In my head.” She rolled her eyes like that was the only obvious deduction that could have come from her statement.

“What else does he do in your head, I wonder?” The slow-rising smile on her face was almost sinister. “Nevermind. Nope, don’t want to know.” I waved my hands and shook my head. I didn’t need any of those details.

“Too late. He also-,”

“Sooooo, want to stay for the show? Could be fun and I bet I could get some great shots.” Caylie interrupted, pointing at the stage. Aria smirked at us. We agreed to stay a while longer, curiosity getting the better of us. I may have also wanted to avoid going back home. I hadn’t felt my stalker’s presence since we got here, and it was a relief not to have the weight of his emotions baring down on me for a while. I felt bad for thinking it, but this ability, this secret, was a heavy weight to carry. I carried it proudly, but sometimes you have to put things down.

“Seriously though, I haven’t seen his face outside of my memories for so long he feels like a fantasy.” She sighed. “The stuff he has been through in there just-,” she paused, like she was choking on the words. “I did that! “She rubbed her eyes hard with the bottom of her palms and her shoulders jerked as she inhaled suddenly. We put a hand on her back, rubbing small circles. “How could I ever drop an L bomb on him after that?” She groaned.

“Hey, look at me. None of this is your fault. Dorien caused this, not you. Ryan loves you.” She scoffed and drooped her head. I lifted her chin to force eye contact. “He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t. I don’t know if he wants a relationship or not only he can say, but what I know for sure is that he cares about you,” I paused for emphasis, “a lot.” I shrugged and leaned back in my seat. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Lance Russo.” She deadpanned.

“We were seven.” Caylie rolled her eyes.

“If we’re going to stay for the next show we’re not talking about our miserable love lives anymore,” she chugged the rest of her Cactus Wine and slammed the glass on the table with a splutter of coughs and big exhales. “We’re on vacation!” Caylie and I shrugged and downed ours, too, with similar reactions.

“I’ll get the next round.” Caylie made her way to the bar. Four tequila shots and an anti-men’s night toast later, the show began. The bar was almost at full capacity and had gotten loud, but was gradually quieting down once the red velvet curtain opened. Five saloon girls stood in a line with frilly dresses, mid thigh height in the front and caressing the floor in the back. The woman in the middle stood ahead of the others. She sang a slow, powerful ballad about a cowboy finding love but not being able to stay with her. The other girls danced in their places; their movements were graceful, yet sorrowful.

When she reached the chorus of the song, she stepped off the stage. Walking around the tables, she touched the men’s shoulders as she passed. She lingered around the men without a woman at the table, rubbing their chests and arms. She sat in one of the men’s lap. Well, he pulled her into his lap and she didn’t fight it. Her voice was so powerful and emotional that I was almost convinced she was the woman who lost her cowboy. I had to fight the urge to comfort her. The tequila in my system mingled with all the emotions in the room. Her song was coming to a close, and I noticed a tear on Aria’s cheek. A cowboy and his love separated. I guess in a weird way she could relate.

There was no way I was going to let her wallow in regret. If anything, she should be celebrating. Caylie and I couldn’t wait to see him, either. He’d been a part of our friends’ group since middle school. I picked up my glass and put it to my lips and tossed it back, but it was empty. There was no slowing me down after that. I had to liven things up. I was drunk, though. So, I might have been more forceful than I had intended. I grabbed both of Aria’s shoulders, putting our foreheads together and yelled.

“Get out of your head. Our best friend is coming HOOOOOOOMEEEE!” I howled. “Let’s celebrate! We’re too drive to drunk-drunk-drive,” We all laughed as I spluttered. “Let’s get a room.” I stood up before they could respond, whooping. I made my way to the bar, hiding my stumbling with dancing, for another round. I ignored all the eyes glaring at me around the room. The next song had already started, but it was hard to care about people hushing me after all the tequila.

I don’t drink often, especially in public. Too many emotions in a place like this. So, it didn’t take much to loosen me up. I stumbled and almost dropped the shot glasses on the table. Caylie snapped a few shots of us taking our drinks. We tried to contain ourselves for the show, but the harder we tried, the more we laughed.

We all got up and went to the bar to get some food to take to the room we were reserving. I turned around on the bar stool and sobered. I scanned the room for a familiar figure. I could always feel him before I saw him. My heartbeat sped up, and my skin was cold and clammy. I rushed the girls, hoping no one noticed my inner panic. I was too drunk to deal with the emotions he pulled from me. I swung my hand behind me frantically, trying to grab the girl’s attention, to no avail. Caylie had turned toward the stage, rolling her long black hair in her fingers. Aria had laid her head down on the bar. I tapped way too hard on Aria’s purple t-shirt. Her loose coils bounced and she sat up.

“What! What is it?” She looks around, squinting. She must have been falling asleep. “Is the food ready? Time to get in my belly!” She sang, “get-get, get in my belly.” She looks around, her brow furrowed.

“No, it’s not that. It’s,” I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else. My nervous habit kicked in and she noticed.

“Uh-oh, you’re doing the finger thing” She turns on her barstool to face me head-on. All I could do was shake my head, sharp and rigid, and point to the back of the saloon.

My stalker was here, smiling, sitting relaxed at a dark corner table, staring into his glass.