Attachments by Rainbow Rowell Page A

“I don’t smoke.”
    “That’s okay. Me neither. I mean, I do, but only when I’m at a bar or a party or whatever. I hate the smell. But if I’m going to smell like smoke anyway, I figure I might as well have one.”
    “My friend has cigarettes …” Lincoln turned to Justin, who was already leading his girl to the dance floor. Damn. Lincoln really didn’t want to dance.
    “Don’t worry about it,” Lisa said.
    “Do you want to dance?” Lincoln asked.
    “Sort of. Do you?”
    “I really don’t. Is that okay?”
    “Totally,” she said. “You can’t talk out there anyway.”
    Now Lincoln was nervous. Justin had taken all the night’s momentum with him to the dance floor. “So,” he asked the girl, “what do you do for a living?”
    “I’m a dental hygienist. What about you?”
    “Computers.”
    She smiled and nodded. “Computers,” she said, “that’s great.” Her eyes started to drift away from him. They finished their drinks, and Lincoln ordered another round, just to have something to do. He should have eaten dinner. It’s too bad this wasn’t still a country bar, didn’t country bars always have peanuts? Or was that only in the movies, to give the actors something to do with their hands …
    Lisa was tearing her coaster into tiny pieces and whisper-rapping along with the music. He thought about getting up, so that she’d have a chance to meet somebody else. She could definitely meet somebody else. She was pretty …probably. In this green and black light, she looked like a week-old bruise. Everyone did.
    “This is a terrible place to meet people,” Lincoln said.
    “What?” Lisa leaned forward.
    “This is a terrible place to meet people,” he said, louder.
    Lisa was sipping her drink through a tiny straw. She stopped, the straw still in her mouth, and looked at him like she was trying to decide whether to leave the table right then or to wait for her friend. It might be a long wait. Justin and the girl had moved off the dance floor into a corner. When the spotlight whipped around, Lincoln could see them kissing. Justin was still holding a lit cigarette and a bottle of beer.
    “Sorry,” Lincoln said. “I didn’t mean that you’re a terrible person to meet. I meant that this is a terrible place to meet anyone .” Lisa’s eyes were still narrow. “Do you like this place?” he asked her.
    “It’s okay.” She shrugged. “It’s like every other bar.”
    “Exactly. They’re all terrible.”
    “How much have you had to drink?” she asked. “Are you one of those sad drunks?”
    “I don’t know, I don’t get drunk that often. How can you help but be sad in here?”
    “I’m not sad,” she said.
    “Then you’re not paying attention.” He was shouting to be heard over the noise, but the shouting made his words come out angry. “I mean, look at this place. Listen to this music.”
    “Don’t you like rap? They do country on Thursdays.”
    “No,” he said, shaking his head broadly. “It’s not the music,” he said. “It’s that, well, you came here to meet somebody, right? To meet a guy?”
    “Right.”
    “To maybe meet the guy, right?”
    She looked down at her drink. “Right.”
    “Well, when you think about that guy—who, by the way, we both know isn’t me—when you think about meeting him, do you think about meeting him in a place like this? In a place this ugly? This loud? Do you want him to smell like Jägermeister and cigarettes? Do you want your first dance to be to a song about strippers?”
    She looked around the bar and shrugged again. “Maybe.”
    “Maybe? No, of course you don’t.”
    “Don’t tell me what I want,” Lisa said, digging in her friend’s purse for a cigarette.
    “You’re right,” Lincoln said. “I’m sorry.”
    She found a cigarette and put it in her mouth. It hung there, unlit. “Where else am I supposed to meet a guy?” she asked, watching the dancers. “Like, in a garden?”
    “A garden would be nice,” he