Irish Trash Can

Jay was leaning against his SUV when I walked out, exactly the way he’d been the two nights before. I climbed into the passenger seat already narrating the plan.

"So what exactly is the River Bar?" I asked. "Give me the pitch."

"It's a bar. By a river."

"Groundbreaking."

We were five minutes into the drive when I spotted a gas station glowing neon against the dusk, a hand-painted sign in the window advertising FROZEN MARGARITAS.

"Oh my God," I said, twisting in my seat. "Jay, did you see that? Frozen margaritas at a gas station."

"That's deeply concerning, not exciting."

"It's the most exciting thing I've seen all day."

"You had a whole rehearsal today. Dancing, blocking, Claire being Claire."

"And now I've seen a gas station with a margarita machine. Banner day."

He was laughing by the time we pulled into the River Bar's gravel lot, shaking his head.

The bar was a huge wooden deck built out over the water, strings of lights overhead, and a small stage where a guy with an acoustic guitar was playing something slow.

"This is cute," I said. "I didn't know if your idea of fun was a brewery where everyone discusses hops."

Jay looked mildly offended. "I contain multitudes."

"You paddleboard recreationally."

"You fell in eleven times."

"We are not doing this again," I warned, pointing a finger at him.

He grinned and led me to the bar. I ordered an Irish Trash Can purely for the name; Jay ordered a plain beer.

"I just think it's interesting," I observed, "that I ordered a trash can and you ordered the beverage equivalent of khaki pants."

He laughed. "Should I ask for an umbrella?"

"Yes. Immediately."

We found a table outside near the water. I took one sip of my alarmingly blue drink.

"Oh, this is terrible."

Jay glanced at it. "Shocking."

"I love it."

I kicked him lightly under the table. He kicked back harder than expected, taking a long, pleased sip of his beer.

"Oh," I said. "You're getting brave."

"I've known you for two days. I'm adapting."

"Good. I was worried I'd have to carry this whole friendship myself."

Something in his smile shifted at the word friendship. A small, quick, gone before I could catch it, as the music switched to something faster.

An hour later, the deck was packed, a full band had taken the stage, and people were dancing. I grabbed Jay's hand. "Come on."

"No. I dance all day."

"Worst excuse ever, Jay."

"No."

I narrowed my eyes. He narrowed his right back, and I gave him my best persuasive smile. "Please?"

His shoulders dropped half an inch—defeat.

"Yes!" I pulled him toward the floor.

"I didn't say yes."

"You were about to."

The problem with dancing next to a professional dancer was that even when Jay was barely trying, he was still better than everyone else combined.

"Stop that," I told him. "You're standing rhythmically. It's unfair."

He laughed and spun me under his arm. I came up laughing. "Asshole!"

"You survived."

He pulled me back in, and I landed with a hand flat against his chest, both of us out of breath. He looked down at me, his cheeks flushed pink in the warm air.

"You're blushing," I teased.

"It's hot out here."

"Sure it is."

I patted his chest twice and turned back toward the band. "What did you say?" I called over the music.

"I said you're annoying."

"I'm delightful."

"So I've been told. By you. Repeatedly."

I laughed and shoved his shoulder, and he grinned like being called annoying was a personal victory.

By the time we left, my feet ached and my face hurt from laughing.

"That was fun," I announced at his SUV.

"You say that about everything. You said a gas station looked fun."

"We're going tomorrow."

He opened my door, shaking his head. "No."

"Tomorrow, Jay."

The drive back was a quiet, comfortable tired. I watched the town slide by in the dark. Two days ago none of these streets meant anything. Now I knew where to get coffee, where the lake was, and where to find an Irish Trash Can.

Jay pulled up to my building and cut the engine.

"Thanks," I said. "For tonight. You exceeded expectations."

He smiled, soft and pleased, and I leaned over and hugged him—a quick, instinctual gesture. He went still for half a second before hugging me back. When I pulled away, we were still close.

He looked at me, I smiled, and then Jay leaned in.

Oh.

I registered what was happening a second before his mouth reached mine, and I put a hand flat against his chest. "Jay."

He stopped immediately, pulling back so fast I felt guilty. "Sorry."

"No…don't be sorry." I winced. "Okay, stupid thing to say."

"A little."

"I just…" I tucked my hair back. "I didn't realize you thought this was a date."

He looked out the windshield. "I wasn't sure it was."

Fuck. He’d picked me up, bought me a drink, danced with me, and I’d had my hands on him all night.

"I really like you," I said quickly. He looked back at me. "I mean… I like hanging out with you. You're fun, and I want to be friends."

Jay nodded once. "Okay."

"You're not mad?"

"Tess, you don't owe me a kiss."

My chest loosened. "Good."

I opened the door, then paused before stepping out. I looked back at him. "So what are we doing tomorrow?"

He stared at me, then laughed, the tension breaking completely. "We have rehearsal."

"After rehearsal."

"I'll think of something."

"Tessa?" he added as I stepped out. "No gas station margaritas."

"We'll see," I grinned, shutting the door.

Eighty-seven days left. I ignored the small, unhelpful part of my brain that didn't seem entirely satisfied with the word friend.