"Luckily, they look about as dull as he is," I said.
We headed inside the bar and found a high-backed booth near the back. It sat across the back wall so we both had an excellent view of the door.
"I'm going to bet she is from North Dakota," Quinn nodded towards a particularly pale tourist who was shivering in a tank top.
"Too bad no one told her it gets cold in the desert at night," I said.
"This place is bigger than I thought," Quinn observed.
I enjoyed watching her look around the familiar bar. It had one long, scarred wooden bar, the line of booths we sat in, two pool tables, a darts corner, and a small sunken dance floor that remained packed at all times. The windows had steamed up from the dancers already in motion.
"I found this place a few years back," I said. "And you didn't think I went out."
Quinn smiled. "Let me guess, you came here to dance."
"Not exactly my thing. Do you like to dance?" I asked. I could imagine her moving easily among the gyrating people. The image was very tempting.
"Yeah. Trent and I love, I mean, we loved to dance," Quinn said. Her eyes drifted back to the small dance floor and I saw them go wide again. "Oh my God. Speak of the devil."
I signaled the waiter to bring us two shots and two beers. Quinn looked like she definitely needed another drink. Then, I turned to look in the direction she was staring. I caught sight of a tall, lanky man with dyed white hair. He stuck out in the crowd, not only for his hair, but for his wild moves. Trent was drawing as much attention to himself as possible.
"Please tell me that is not your ex-boyfriend," I said, even though I knew it was.
"Do you think he's here with that guy?"
"If they didn't come together, I would not be surprised if they left together. Shit, sorry, Quinn."
"No, it's alright. Obviously he's really broken up over our breakup," she said. She pulled out her phone.
"No. Wait. What are you doing?" I asked. I lunged across the booth for her phone, but she pulled back.
"Just letting him know that I'm at my parents if he wants to come and talk."
"You think he's going to make the four-hour drive from UCLA to talk about your relationship?" I asked.
"You would. Wouldn't you?" Quinn said.
I was glad the drinks arrived. Before she noticed, I tipped back both shots and signaled the waiter for another round. Watching Quinn be tortured by an obviously awful ex-boyfriend was going to take a high level of intoxication.
"Besides," Quinn said, typing furiously on her phone, "he's not in L.A., he's here. So it would be easy for him to tell me he was already on his way. You know, play the hero."
Trent's flailing arms dropped when she pressed send. In the midst of the dance floor, he pulled his phone from his pocket and checked it. A pleased smile spread across his face before he shoved the phone back in his pocket without a response.
Quinn grabbed her beer with both hands and groaned into the foam. "Oh God, of course. He doesn't even care. Did you see that smile? All he cares about is that I still have feelings for him."
"Do you?" From where I sat, he looked like a grade-A douchebag.
"Yes. No. We were never really that serious but it still hurts, you know? He just used me to feed his ego," Quinn said. She picked up the pint and took
a long drink. "Hey, didn't you order shots?"
I laughed. "Yeah, they're on their way. So, besides getting drunk, what are you going to do?"
She took another long drink. "I suppose you would not help me with a Coyote Ugly type takeover, would you?"
"Sweetheart, there is not enough alcohol in this bar for that." I said. "I'm sure there are other ways you could make him jealous. Is he really worth that much effort?"
She looked back at the dance floor. Trent was sandwiched between two enthusiastic girls while flirting with the man over their heads. "He was always the life of the party."