I swear Rosalie can talk me into anything. She's been completely obsessing over this band she some how "discovered". I'm not sure that peeling a flier off of a wall of 200 that are plastered all over the side of a building, because there is a "hot guy" in the band, really constitutes "discovering". But what do I know. She's the one with the ear for music and I have to admit her job as the entertainment reporter for the paper where we work has gotten us into more than one kick-ass show. Judging from our surroundings this could be the exception.
It was all that you would expect a seedy little bar to be, the smell of stale beer and the yellow haze of 20 years of cigarette smoke seeping out the pores of the cinderblock walls. Tiny blacktopped tables were sparsely scattered around the room, each assigned an odd number of mismatched chairs. Black and white checkered tiles spread out beyond the tables to form a makeshift dance floor which finally lead to slightly elevated stage. The stage was covered with a variety of instruments and amps; presumably where the band would play. Small points of light dotted the ceiling giving the room a dim auburn glow. The walls were covered with a host of music memorabilia, and the wall to the left of the stage was lined with three long rows of framed and autographed eight by ten photos. Judging from the pics, this dive may have seen an actual musician a time or two. I felt somewhat hopeful that this whole ordeal wouldn't be a total bust.
We made our way to the bar, weaving our way through the small groups of people that littered the place. I was like a baby deer taking its first steps as I wobbled across the floor on the 3 inch stilettos that Rose forced me to wear. She had made it her personal mission to find me a man. Evidently, the first step in this process was to dress me up like Hooker Barbie. Where does she shop Fredrick's of Hollywood? My costume included a tight ass, low cut sparkly shirt, painted on skinny jeans and ankle breaker heels.
Rose instantly gravitates toward the end of the bar where a muscley, dark haired guy was sitting. His back was turned away from us talking to the bartender. There were two empty stools to the right of him. She noisily pulled out the one closest to him, purposefully bringing attention to herself. Like she ever has to put forth any effort, guys are all over her everywhere we go. She's the average guy's wet dream, long, wavy blonde hair the color of the sun, legs for miles, flawless skin, pouty lips, all around your basic Victoria's Secret model. Shit, I even think she's hot.
Of course as her luck would have it, the guy turns around and he's the hotty from the band flier. He flashes a gleaming white smile and winks at her with electric blue eyes. I know I'm in for another night alone sitting on a barstool.
Great, just what I need, more time to dwell over "He That Must Not Be Named". Wow, that's an improvement, it's the first time I've thought about Edward all day. Dammit, I just thought about him. Why, why couldn't I get over this? Just because you think someone is the love of your life doesn't mean they are automatically obligated to feel the same way about you. I'm a rational person I understand this concept. He said he didn't love me. How could that be any clearer?
"What can I get ya?" The bartender asks and snaps me out of my little internal pity party. I'll take a Corona, please. I notice Rose has already ordered her typical dirty martini and I hear her boy toy make some comment about her being a dirty, little girl. Naturally, she giggles and tosses her hair back. She really doesn't waste any time getting to the foreplay does she? Luckily the bartender brings my beer over so I have something to concentrate on besides the little orgy going on next to me. I squeeze the lime in, take a pull from the bottle and begin analyzing my inability to just get over the whole Edward thing.
After playing with the lime slice for what seems like an excruciatingly long time, I hear the band start to warm up. The boy toy gives Rose a squeeze on the elbow and says he'll talk to her after his first set. The first words out of her mouth are, "Isn't he adorable?" "Yeah, he's a regular Adonis", I say sarcastically. I keep the rest of my bitter opinion to myself. She shouldn't be unhappy just because I am. "So what's dream boy's name anyway?" I ask feigning enthusiasm. "Emmett," she gushes. "I've never dated an Emmett". This means I can potentially cross another letter off the game of sleep your way through the alphabet that I have going for her. I'm not sure that she actually knows that she's playing the game, but I've been keeping score for her. I came up with the idea after realizing that her last three "dates" had names that began with X, Y, and Z. Xander, Yosef, and, Zane. Hard to believe but true. Pathetic, yes, but these are the kind of things I do to pass time since I have no sex life of my own. She really does try to hook me up when we go out, I just don't seem to have it in me to pursue any kind of new relationship.
I completely zone out as she goes on babbling about how frickin' wonderful Emmett is. I'm selfishly ecstatic that he's in the band so I won't be on my own the whole night. As I finish counting all of the bottles of liquor that line the mirrored wall behind the bar, 77, the band begins playing, I turn to evaluate their potential.