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  And that’s why the girl sitting next to me now is a no go, even if I were in the mood tonight. Everything about her screams “trouble.”

  She has the crazy eyes. I have no doubt in my mind that she’d be one of those girls who’d end up trying to stab me with the kitchen knife or dousing herself in gasoline just to get some attention. I’ve had too many close calls with her kind to ever give it another try.

  Seeing my pained expression, Shelley suppresses a smile. She slides the drinks onto the counter and takes the bills in my hand. Her eyes glint with cheer when she checks out how much I’m tipping. Maybe Shelley only likes me for my generous tips, but it doesn’t matter. Everybody uses everybody else in some way.

  “Just so you know, Rick’s here.” She winks. That’s one perk of having Shelley on my side — excellent service from someone who knows exactly what I want.

  I mouth her a silent thank you before she turns around and walks away to serve the fat middle-aged guy who has been leering at her ass and shouting obnoxiously to get her attention.

  That’s a special kind of workplace hazard that attractive bartenders all over the world suffer. Shelley once admitted that it’s annoying, but she gets more tips when she dresses up in revealing clothes, and the money makes it worthwhile.

  A few seats further from the dirty old man, I spot Rick, partially hidden in the shadows.

  “Hey, Rick!” I wave at him and motion for him to come over. He grins and picks up his drink. A few people turn to look at him when he stands up to his full height.

  “Hey, man,” he says as he takes a seat beside the girl who’s still hanging on my arm, his shoulders hunched over his drink. “How’s life?”

  “Oh, you know. No rest for the wicked.”

  “Your father keeping you busy, huh?”

  “As usual,” I say.

  I don’t have many friends, and Rick is not exactly a friend, but we do sometimes bump into each other here at The Amber Room and chat about stuff.

  “Have you met this lady?” I gesture toward the girl, hoping she doesn’t catch on to the fact that I don’t remember her name. But even if she does, I’m not going to lose any sleep over it.

  “No, I can’t say that I have.” Rick extends a hand toward her. “Hi, I’m Rick.”

  “Angela,” she says, shaking his hand.

  “I’ve seen you around here before,” Rick says, giving her his signature smile.

  “Yeah,” Angela says. “I do come here quite a lot.”

  “How do you know Cole?” Rick maintains eye contact with Angela. Despite his height-related awkwardness, Rick has never had a problem getting laid, thanks to his disarming charm and natural interest in people.

  “Oh.” She looks down, seemingly studying the knots in the solid wood bar counter in front of us. “We, uh, met here.”

  “I see,” Rick says, giving me a quick wink before turning his attention back to her. “Just like we just have.”

  “I guess so,” Angela giggles. She slowly loosens her grip on my arm and I inch away from her, letting Rick’s charm do its magic.

  I knew Rick was going to distract her. The guy gets along with everybody. And he’s always up for a chat — or more — with any decent-looking girl.

  I wait for a few minutes before making a big show out of checking the watch on my wrist.

  “Hey, you guys have fun. I need to be somewhere else now.” I exhale loudly to make it seem like I hate having to leave.

  I’m not crazy about talking business with my father, but it has to be better than this boring small talk.

  “Oh, already?” Rick says the words he’s supposed to say, but he knows I planned to ditch them from the beginning. He’s obviously glad to have some alone time with Angela.

  “Yeah.” I pull out my phone and see there are already three text messages from my father. “They’re probably already waiting for me.”

  “Alright man,” Rick says. “See you around.”

  “See you,” I say. “Good to see you again, Angela.”

  I turn around without waiting for her reply. It’s hard to read her expression in the dark, and I don’t care about anything she has to say anyway. I breathe a sigh of relief as I make my way toward the exit.

  And that’s when I see her.

  She’s all legs, with a tight little ass and perky tits. Her slender body is wrapped in a skin-tight, knee-length red dress with a black ribbon around her waist that forms a bow at the front. Just the right balance between sexy and classy.

  Damn. She looks like a present ready for me to unwrap.

  She has voluminous blonde waves so glossy I’m sure they’d feel like heaven wrapped around my fist. Full lips that would look so fucking sexy gasping in the night air when I expose her long neck and bite down.

  An overwhelming urge comes over me. I want to grab both her arms, pin her to the wall, and take her right there, in front of everyone. It’s been a long time since a woman elicited that kind of reaction from me. I can feel myself growing hard in my pants.

  I stop my legs from automatically following her. Don’t be crazy, I tell myself.

  I glance at my watch again. The little metal hands glow in the dim light, telling me I’m already fifteen minutes late.

  “Fuck,” I curse under my breath. I can already hear Pop’s voice telling me to think with my big head, not my small one. And I haven’t even done anything to warrant his lecture tonight.

  When I look up, she’s gone. As I scan the room, I can only see the usual faces in the dim light of The Amber Room.

  I have no choice but to leave now. Walking out into the balmy spring air, I swear I’ll find her again. She’s awakened my hunting instinct.

  Emily

  EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER

  I look up at the stars winking in the velvet sky. I study the colors. It’s beautiful, the way the stars bleach the space around them almost white, and the way the sky gradually changes from light blue, to dark navy, and then to almost inky black.

  We lie awake in the darkness, letting silence take over.

  We’ve been here for a while now, only occasionally moving to adjust the blanket underneath us. There was a bee trapped between the grass and our blanket before, and we laughed while we staged a mini search-and-rescue mission.

  But now it’s just the two of us, hands clasped together while the light summer wind swirls around us, caressing our skin.

  This is nice, I think to myself. I think I’m actually happy. Happier than I’ve ever been in my life.

  Slowly, everything blurs as water fills my eyes, the droplets streaming down past my temples and falling onto our picnic blanket. I turn to look at him and smile. I can’t help it. Looking at him makes me smile.

  His eyes are closed. His thick, sandy brown hair is usually long enough to touch his shoulders, but now it fans out on the blanket. A few strands float in the warm breeze.

  I turn onto my side and face him. I stroke his hair — I know he likes that. My index finger traces the curve of his forehead, the angle of his nose, the softness of his cheeks.

  God, I love this man. I love him so much just looking at him pains me sometimes. Not because he hurts me — he’d never do anything like that. But, as cheesy as it sounds, my feelings for him are so intense sometimes it feels like my heart could burst from the fullness.

  He turns his head to look at me and notices the wet streaks across my face. But he doesn’t have to ask to know they’re not sad tears. He smiles at me tenderly, then reaches out and wipes my tears with his warm fingers.

  We gaze into each other’s eyes and luxuriate in our oneness. I can read his thoughts and reach into his soul, and he can do the same with me. He knows me, all of me, and he’s still here, looking at me like I’m the best thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

  On a night like this, we don’t need words.

  And yet the words are bubbling up inside me, begging to be spoken into the world.

  “I love you,” I want to say, but my voice won’t come ou
t.

  I search for my voice inside my chest and my throat. But it’s not there. I can’t get it out.

  I take a deep breath and force my vocal cords to vibrate, and I hear a soft moan in my own voice.

  I can do this.

  “Ahhh…”

  I hear myself speak, and my eyes slowly open.

  The stars have disappeared, and so has the man.

  I’m in my bedroom, all alone in the desolate darkness of the city.

  Fuck. Not again.

  Tears flow, unbidden. From my eyes, through my hair, and into my pillow. Tears of sadness, of loss.

  It’s been more than a year. These pangs of agony don’t torture me every minute of every day anymore, but they appear out of the blue sometimes and destroy all the emotional progress I’ve made.

  Sometimes I feel like he’s still around, like he’s watching over me, trying to make sure I’m okay. I used to look out the window a lot, hoping to catch him in the act.

  But that’s just crazy talk.

  I pull out some Kleenex from the box on the nightstand and blow my blocked nose. I have to be able to breathe if I want to go back to sleep.

  I steer my thoughts toward other things.

  Like work. That’s a good thing to obsess over. I finally have a good starting point — a beginning to a potentially wonderful career instead of another shitty, dead-end job.

  I turn my phone on and find the article I was reading before I fell asleep. Seven Interview Tips That Will Get You the Job. I let the words fill my head and make my eyelids grow heavy…

  “Emily!”

  I sigh. Do we really need to do this every day?

  “Yeah,” I mumble as loudly as I can, fighting my morning lethargy.

  “Em!” Footsteps get closer to the bedroom door. I know what’s coming before the knocking starts.

  “Yeah, I’m awake,” I say, hopefully loud enough for my sister to hear from the other side of the door.

  “Yay!” Alice cheers and stops the loud knocking. It’s not something I like to admit after everything she’s done for me, but the cheerfulness in her voice grates on me sometimes, just a little bit. Especially in the mornings. “I made you waffles for breakfast.”

  “Okay,” I say, yawning and rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

  I sit up and check my phone. Two more minutes until my alarm. Damn it, Alice. I turn the alarm off and walk toward the bathroom.

  I know two minutes is barely enough time to do anything, but all that time I waste waking up a few minutes too early must add up. Two minutes today, five minutes yesterday, three minutes the day before that…I must lose, like, one whole hour of sleep every month.

  Another day, another interview to fail, I think to myself cynically as the shower sprays hot water onto my body.

  Life as a millennial sucks. It used to be that a regular college degree could get your foot in the door.

  But now, they want a college degree with exceptionally good grades and heavy involvement with multiple student organizations. And let’s not forget the multiple years of work experience required for entry-level jobs these days.

  For someone like me, who didn’t even go to college, all those things combined together basically mean I’m screwed.

  Every now and again, I come across some news article about how millennials are lazy and how people used to start in the mail room and slowly climb their way up the corporate ladder. Nothing makes me angrier. Those old, irrelevant people have no idea how much more difficult it is to even get a job — any job — these days.

  If I can’t even get a shitty job to tide me over while I improve myself and find a better job, how am I supposed to move forward in life?

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes, letting the water wash over me.

  I once went to a yoga class where the instructor recommended meditation during the morning shower by letting all thoughts flow away down the drain with the water. It was a good trick and it worked, for a while at least, until… Well, let’s just say it worked until it didn’t.

  But this is not the time to feel sorry for myself, or even to fill my brain with anything unrelated to today’s interview. I need to clear my mind.

  I got a tip about this interview from Alice. It’s an entry-level junior marketing position at Foster Hotels, a local chain of chic boutique hotels here in San Fransisco.

  I’ve always wanted to work in the travel industry, so this is a big opportunity for me. I don’t usually get interviews for something that matches my interests so well. Alice told me that Marco, our childhood friend in Seattle who works in hospitality, has put in a good word for me. Which reminds me, I should probably thank him.

  I turn off the shower and dry myself while practicing my answers for common job interview questions. I’ve done nothing but read up on interview skills and attend actual interviews these last few months. I’m practically a professional interviewee at this point.

  “My biggest weakness is I don’t have a degree,” I recite as I walk back into my bedroom and close the door.

  I scan the items in my wardrobe and quickly settle on a gray button-down shirt. It’s a safe choice that shouldn’t turn any potential employer off. And it’s in better shape than my other office-appropriate shirt.

  “But that also means that I’m a blank slate, ready to absorb knowledge and skills from your excellent training program. I don’t have any preconceived ideas about how things should be done.”

  I quickly blow-dry my long honey-blonde hair and put it up in a neat French twist. It’s my go-to hairstyle when I don’t have much time to look put together.

  I mastered it after watching and re-watching like ten tutorials on YouTube all day — that was back when I had the luxury of time to waste and back when I actually cared about my appearance. Now it’s just a practical up-do.

  “I’ve also been reading up on industry trends and learning a lot about hospitality from books in the library, as well as online sources. I believe my efforts show my commitment to this line of work. My inner motivation and thirst for learning will benefit Foster Hotels as I continue to improve my skill set.”

  The books and articles I’ve read say to stick with natural makeup that won’t distract the interviewer from my qualifications — not that I have much to show in that department.

  “Once I settle into my new position, I fully plan to further my education so I can contribute more value to Foster Hotels.”

  I spread some tinted moisturizer all over my freshly washed face, dust a bit of rosy blush on my cheeks, fill in my eyebrows with a dark brown pencil, apply some waterproof eyeliner to my upper waterline, and put on some waterproof mascara.

  “I also plan to update my shitty wardrobe, so you don’t have to worry about having someone who looks like a bag lady representing your luxury brand,” I say while checking my own reflection in the $5 full-length mirror hanging over the door.

  I’ve paired the gray shirt with a black pencil skirt. They’re both a little baggy. I’ve lost a lot of weight over the past year and a half. I may look out of place in a fashion magazine, but I think this outfit is professional enough. At least my clothes don’t look like they came from the clearance section of the thrift store.

  I take a deep breath.

  You can do this, Emily, I tell myself. If you just get this job, you can start to build a life again. A life you love.

  I feel the familiar pricking in my eyes as sadness comes over me, but I fight it back. I’m not going to let it overwhelm me. Not today.

  Stop it. You’ve cried enough. Focus on the here and now.

  I grab a tissue and dab at the corners of my eyes, briefly thanking Maybelline for their line of affordable waterproof makeup products.

  I grab my bag and check that I have all the documents I need inside. A copy of my resume, a copy of my reference list, and a cheat sheet with details about Foster Hotels that I plan to review on the bus. Perfect.

  You’ve got this.

  I walk out of my room and
follow the aroma of waffles and coffee into the kitchen. “Hey.”

  “Hey sleepyhead,” Alice says, looking up from the cup of coffee in her hands.

  She has the same blonde hair and blue eyes that I do, but she’s always been the taller one, the prettier one, as well as the smarter one.

  “Hey, don’t judge. I’m just not a morning person.” I shrug. I grab a mug from the cabinet, fill it with tap water, and gulp it down.

  “The waffles are on the counter,” Alice says.

  “Awesome. I like waffles,” I say, grinning. I pick up the plate of waffles and pour hot coffee into the mug.

  “I know you do, idiot. That’s why I made them.” Alice kicks a chair out for me.

  “You’re too good to me, Alice.” I take my seat. I know she means well, but sometimes I feel like she pities me and I hate that. “But I don’t need waffles, you know. A lot of things that you do for me, I don’t need you to.”

  “I know. I want to do those things for you. You’re my sister.”

  “I’m your sister and I never make you waffles.”

  “That’s true,” she says, acting like she’s in deep thought. “So pancakes tomorrow?”

  “You know that’s not what I mean.” The corners of my mouth tug upward, dragging my lips into a smile.

  “You’ve been through a lot, Emily.” Alice places a hand on my upper arm. “It takes time to heal. So take as much time as you need.”

  “Ah, damn it. Now you’re going to make me cry.” I sigh.

  “That’s okay,” Alice says. “You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “I’m going to pay you back someday, Alice. Somehow…” I let my voice trail off while I fight to suppress my tears. God. I haven’t been awake for even one hour and I’m already a weepy mess.

  “I look forward to my luxury, all-expenses-paid vacation in Bali,” she says, shooting me a cheeky grin.

  “God, that would be nice. Sunny weather, sandy beach, warm water, and…mysterious foreign men?” I raise an eyebrow at Alice, and we both laugh.