Let It Breathe by Tawna Fenske

There were two pitchers of beer on their table, but he hardly noticed. It was Reese who made his pulse kick into overdrive. Reese looked away first, touching Sheila’s wrist and making a point of admiring her bracelet.
    “Come on, Clay,” Larissa shouted loudly enough that other patrons turned to stare. “Don’t be shy. We’ve got plenty of room here.”
    Clay let go of the table and put one foot in front of the other, trying to look cool and probably just looking like a guy trying to look cool.
    Eric grinned, the same, familiar expression Clay had seen a million times since college. Sheila smiled, too, tossing her blonde hair as she put her hand on her husband’s arm.
    The guy next to Reese tore his eyes away from her breasts to see what the fuss was about.
    Reese was the last to turn and smile at him, a move that seemed almost calculated. The smile was worth the wait—warm and real enough to light up her eyes.
    “Hello, Clay,” she said. “What brings you here?”
    “I just had a meeting with someone. I’m heading home now.”
    “Ooooh—a girl?” Sheila asked with hope. “It’d be great for you to have a girlfriend, Clay.”
    “Not a girl,” Clay said. “My new sponsor.”
    “Sponsor?” Larissa asked. “Is that like the commercials you see on TV where you pay thirty dollars a month so a starving kid can eat?”
    Everyone else at the table shifted uncomfortably, and Clay couldn’t tell if Larissa was drunk, joking, or playing the ditz like she sometimes did in a bar full of men. Probably all three, he thought as he watched her drain her glass.
    “No,” Clay said. “I got connected with Patrick through the local Alcoholics Anonymous group. I contacted them last week to get a support network in place before I came out here.”
    “Working the steps, huh?” the guy next to Reese said. Actually, he said it to Reese’s breasts, but Clay assumed the words were meant for him. “Had a brother do AA,” the guy continued. “Relapsed six times.”
    Clay wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he offered his hand. “Clay Henderson. Good to meet you.”
    “Bob Wilson,” he grunted, looking up to extend his hand. “I’m a financial analyst. I’m with Reese.”
    Clay saw Reese’s expression go from uncomfortable to annoyed and back to uncomfortable in a span of three seconds. He wondered if anyone else noticed.
    Then he watched her lift her hand and adjust something between her breasts.
    What the hell?
    On the other side of the table, Eric cleared his throat. “Clay and I were college roommates, Bob. Me and Reese and Clay, we’ve been friends a long time.” He looked back at Clay and gestured toward an empty chair sitting off to the side of the booth. “You gonna join us, buddy?”
    Clay hesitated. Larissa snaked out a stiletto-clad foot and dragged the chair closer. “Come on, Clay—it’s been too long. At least help us with the nachos and catch up on old times.”
    Clay hesitated again, hoping no one expected him to be the life of the party the way he might have been in college. Then again, people had stopped inviting him to parties within a few years of college, back when he’d gone from being the fun guy with a beer in his hand to the pathetic guy with twelve empty cans at his feet.
    He could change all that.
    Clay sat down and signaled a passing waiter to ask for another Coke.
    He looked back at Reese. She looked away. Then she reached between her breasts and fiddled with something again.
    Seriously? Was he the only one noticing this?
    He glanced at Bob. Okay, so he wasn’t the only one noticing. But Bob seemed more interested in the breasts themselves than in whatever was troubling them. Or troubling Reese—he wasn’t really sure what was going on.
    “So, Bob,” Clay said. “How’s the financial analyst business going?”
    “Good, good,” Bob said, peeling his eyes off Reese’s cleavage. “What is it you do, Clay?”
    “I’m in construction.”
    “I see,” said Bob in a tone