by Zeia Jameson
She doesn’t smile but it makes me laugh that she doesn’t like to wear dresses or makeup. I’ve ever only seen her in jeans and she certainly doesn’t need anything to enhance her beautiful face.
“I hated it.” She continues. “I was uncomfortable all night; the music was too loud and a lot of drunk guys hit on me, which was extremely annoying. It was terrible. I will never do that again. I asked Sara not to try to force me to have fun again. I make my own fun just fine.”
Until now, I’ve never met a twenty-one year old woman who didn’t like to go out dancing with the sole purpose of making drunk guys drool.
“And also, I’ve never been bowling.”
“What? How is that possible?”
She shrugs her shoulders. Getting information out of this girl is what I imagine to be the equivalent of interrogating a double agent spy.
“So. What do you do for fun?”
“I like to read.”
“You like to read? For fun?”
“Mmmhmmm.” She nods.
“What else?”
“Jeremy, I told you. Work. School. No time for fun.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, you are twenty-one. There are plenty of college students who balance work, school and fun.”
“Yep, that’s what Sara said too. But I’m kind of content just doing what I do. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. You are right. If you are living your life the way you want to then there isn’t anything wrong. But my biggest issue is that I’d like to spend time with you outside of the bar. In case you haven’t noticed, I kind of like hanging out with you.”
She smiles, “I’ve noticed.”
“I’m not a bad guy, Livy. “
“I’ve noticed that too.”
“So why the hesitation?”
She stares at me like she’s trying to read my expression. Her eyes are so sad. She inhales.
“I really like you. And I’m scared I’ll hurt you.”
“It’s just one date. “
“But it could be more. I’ve never met a guy like you. You aren’t like all the handsy douche bags that I grew up with or that sit at this bar. You are kind and I appreciate that but it scares the hell out of me.”
She looks back up at the ceiling. She’s pushing back tears. I’ve seen that maneuver from my mother before. With her eyes still pointing upward she confesses, “I have a terrible past and I don’t want to tell you about any of it because I don’t...well, I don’t want to talk about it. And I certainly don’t want your pity.”
As she completes the last sentence she looks back at me with glassy eyes. There is so much sorrow. But her look also tells me she’s not joking. She absolutely doesn’t want sympathy from anyone.
“Well, we can solve that problem. I can take you to dinner and I promise not to ask you any personal questions about your past.”
She shakes her head immediately. “No. One date might lead to two and three and eventually you are going to want to know and I don’t want to talk about it.”
I sigh. She’s sitting here waving red flags right in front of my face telling me she’s trouble but I couldn’t care less.
All I think about is her.
Her face, her hair, her eyes.
Her scent, her laugh.
Every moment I’ve spent with her plays on repeat in my brain 24/7. Even when I dream.
I don’t want to quit her.
“Ok. How about this? Is it ok if I ask you three questions that are very generic and will not pressure you to divulge details about your past?”
“You can ask but I am not promising an answer.”
I nod with understanding. She sits up straight, bracing for my inquisition.
“Ok. Are you running from the law?”
She chuckles, “No.”
“Are you a convicted felon?”
“No.”
“Are you an illegal alien, a murderer of any sort, or some type of prior drug king pin, Mafioso, or ex-gambling addict that owes some thug a lot of money?”
She smile big and laughs. “That was like five questions in one.”
“I know. I was trying to cover all bases and I was running out of questions. Well?”
“No. I am none of those things.”
“Ok then. If you are none of those things then I don’t care about anything else. We can go on a million dates and I won’t ask. If you want to tell me I will listen. My mom taught me how to be a good listener.”
I smile but she winces just slightly. I’ve said something that struck a nerve. But I persist. “I like you. I really like talking to you. I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed as much with anyone else. And you aren’t bad to look at and you smell kind of nice.”
I wink and she smiles back and actually blushes a little. I take a chance and reach out to her hand that’s sitting on her lap. I squeeze it just a little. There is surprise in her face but I don’t think she’s going to smack me.
“Please, Livy. Let me take you to dinner. You don’t have to dress up and I promise we’ll have fun. No loud music. No drunk guys. Just you, me and some delicious food.”
Please say yes, please say yes.
I feel like I wait an eternity for her to respond.
In the smallest voice I think she could possibly make she whispers, “Ok.”
“Ok?” I have to confirm that I heard correctly. She nods. The physical confirmation is much clearer. I squeeze her hand a tad harder and I smile the biggest smile that my face has ever produced.
My heart nearly leaps from my body.
Calm down. It’s just a date, you knucklehead.
Yep. Just a date. With the most beautiful, down to earth, badass and mysterious woman I’ve ever met.
We’re both in trouble.
I know I’m never going to want to let her go and I get a sense she is going to try to convince me, or herself, why she can’t stay.
***
8
Livy
Defrost
Jeremy. Is. Amazing.
Women all over the planet profess that about the guy their smitten with but Jeremy.
Is.
Truly.
Amazing.
And I really hate using the word amazing to describe him. That term is too common in conversations these days. Sara uses the word amazing like most people use the word the. Maybe she’s rubbing off on me finally. I don’t know, but amazing is the only word I can think of to describe him. There has to be a better word—adorable, hilarious, courteous? But with amazing you kind of roll all of those other adjectives into three easy syllables.
And yes, I also used the word smitten. Another word I have scoffed at every time I’ve seen it in a book I’ve read. Smitten. Psssh. Dumbest fucking word in the dictionary if you ask me. Correction—if you had asked me a few weeks ago, that is. Now, I understand that smitten is for real.
And I feel like the biggest fucking idiot for feeling this way. Smitten and I are not friends. A guy walks into my bar and within the matter of a week, I am all googley eyes and puppy love. I can’t stop smiling. All I think about is his stupid adorable face and his annoying beautiful eyes and his wickedly large, strong masculine hands.
I’m Livy, the girl who never smiles. The girl who uses the word fuck more than Sara uses the word amazing, if for no other reason than to just scare people so they’ll stay away. The girl with no soul.
And now I’m smitten.
Fuck me.
After a week of his persistence and habitual presence at the bar, I finally caved. I agreed to go out with him. He was more stubborn than me and it pissed me off a little. But it was also a little appealing. He got my humor and understood my point of view. He always had a positive counterpoint to any negative argument I had about the world from my eyes. He was easy to talk to and fun to laugh with. Laughing with anyone wasn’t something I normally took part in but it’s fun with Jeremy. The laughter mixed with the shallow conversations on general broad topics felt nice. It was like we had b
een old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years and picked up right where we left off.
On our first date, I asked if he’d pick me up at the bar. Even though I felt like I knew him better than anyone else I knew already, he was still technically a stranger and I didn’t want him picking me up at the apartment. Not to mention it was kind of a hot mess since Sara and I are there only long enough to make a mess but not clean. I can’t remember the last time I did laundry. We try to keep dirty dishes to a minimum. Since I left Nancy, I’ve become kind of averse to doing chores. I was the one who did everything around that house. Laundry, dishes, floors—you name it. From the time I was about five years old, I was the sole chore-doer.
Now, I couldn’t care less if the bed is made or the bathroom floor has hair on it. I turned into a tiny bit of a slob. But Sara doesn’t protest so why make the effort? With Joe’s bar though, I’m a neat freak. Spilled beer gets gross and smelly if it lingers too long. And it’s hard to have a busy shift without spilling a little beer here and there. Plus, it’s Joe’s business and livelihood. And if I don’t take pride in it, the bar could lose customers and I could lose my job. I wasn’t joking with Jeremy when I told him I don’t clean half-assed. With the exception of the financial investment Joe has in it, this bar is mine just as much as it is his. I’d be lost without it.
Jeremy met me at the bar around seven. I assumed we’d leave right away but he suggested we sit and have a drink first. It wasn’t too busy since it was the middle of the week. I kind of felt weird sitting on the other side of the bar, being a customer and having Sara wait on me. But she said she didn’t mind at all. So we sat and had a pint each. I asked him if he liked Porter and he shrugged and said he didn’t think he’d ever tried one. So Sara poured us a couple of Porters and we sat at the bar and chatted just as we’d done so many times before over the past couple of days. But this time was different. We were on a date and we were surrounded by other people.
Prior to the date, I told him I was going to wear jeans and he seemed ok with that. I wore the extra snug ones though and a cute top in my favorite color that accentuated my curves and my eyes. Jeremy came in wearing a blue button down shirt, untucked, sleeves rolled up and khakis. I think he was conveying the notion that he was ok with us both being casual. The days he had come into the bar before that night, he also wore button downs and slacks, but he was a little tidier with his shirt tucked in and his sleeves rolled down and buttoned properly. Even though there was nothing wrong with his normal, straight laced attire, I kind of dug the more casual Jeremy.
His shirt also emphasized his dark, crystal blue eyes as my green shirt did mine. He had a five o’clock shadow so his face was surrounded by his dark, chocolate hair which made his eyes the focal point of my attention even more.
Jeremy was handsome. Extremely handsome. I would never admit it out loud but I’ve imagined many times what was under those clothes. Arms. Abs. Ass. Dick.
Nope, I would never say that out loud. If anyone paid close attention they’d see me blush slightly when I thought about what Jeremy looked like naked. I’ve never fantasized about a man’s penis. Hell, I’ve never even fantasized about having a man naked in my bed. Sure there were plenty of good looking men that came into the bar. Men of all kinds. Suits. Blue collar. Meat heads. But I never imagined what it would be like to have sex with any of them.
After the Porters, he paid and left Sara a generous tip. He stood and lifted his arm, elbow pointed in my direction signaling for me to stand and wrap my arm around his. I did and we headed out for what turned out to be the absolute best night of my life. At that point anyway. I would soon discover that every moment I spent with Jeremy was the best moment of my life.
We headed to the bowling alley. Something I’d never done before. The town I grew up in didn’t have a bowling alley. Jeremy gave me the run down on how it worked and how the game was scored. He suggested I start with an eight pound ball. The first time I rolled it, it went air born more than half the length of the lane before it hit the ground landing with a deafening bang. I was so embarrassed. Jeremy assured me it was ok and handed me a ten pound ball. After a few rolls down the lane I settled for a fourteen pound ball. Jeremy said he was a little impressed but not surprised after the altercation with the assholes I had the first night we met. Even though I was more comfortable with the weight of the ball, I still managed to make about half a dozen gutter balls. I think it wasn’t until the fifth frame that I actually knocked down three pins. I was elated. I jumped and clapped and spun around like I’d won a game show. Jeremy ran up to me without hesitation and hugged me. I didn’t hesitate to let him hug me either. In that embrace I got a good inhale of his earthy cologne and his scruffy face brushed up against my cheek. His hold on me was strong but endearing. It was like we had known and loved each other for an eternity. It was weird but it was also comfortable. The best part about it was that interaction between Jeremy and me was automatic. There wasn’t awkwardness and I didn’t shy away from his subtle hand touches. I was never a touchy feely kind of person but with Jeremy it was natural.
But this hug. It was warm. It made my insides feel like I had just drunk hot cider. I wasn’t used to hugs and maybe the unfamiliarity made it seem that much more special. I don’t know, but I loved that hug and I knew that I would cherish the first time Jeremy hugged me forever. Even though it was a hug over knocking down stupid bowling pins. After that hug I started wondering what it would be like to kiss Jeremy. What it would be like to make out with him in the car until the windows fogged up. What it would be like to have his hand up my shirt while he was kissing my neck.
Not until the end of that date, however, had I started thinking about our bodies wrapped around each other naked, tangled in sheets, sweaty and out of breath.
After bowling, we went to dinner at an Italian trattoria. I only call it a trattoria, because it had the word trattoria in the name of the restaurant. I mentioned to Jeremy that I always thought that word was a bit pretentious, despite the meaning of the word translating to something along the lines of “small, quaint restaurant”. Jeremy told me to relax and that this place was old, and indeed small and casual. It had been owned by generations of the same Italian family and the food was to die for. He also told me there was nothing more romantic than pasta, wine and tiramisu. Jeremy was talking about romance. Never in my life had I heard a guy say the word “romantic”. Maybe on TV, but certainly not in real life.
The hostess motioned to the direction of our seat and Jeremy followed me with his hand at the small of my back the entire time. She led us to a booth and I sighed a little. I wasn’t a fan of dates that involved booths. However, when we sat down, he sat across from me. I don’t know why I was surprised but of course he did. That’s what normal guys that don’t live in the freakville town I grew up in do.
And that’s when it hit me. He’s that guy. The one I envisioned years ago, sitting on the edge of my bed while counting the days to turn eighteen. The guy I’d finally find that would want to look me in the eyes and talk to me instead of pinning me in between him and the wall and trying to cop a feel the whole evening.
I wasn’t ignorant enough to believe he was THE ONE, as in we would run off into the sunset and live happily ever after. But I did begin to feel a glimmer of hope that he could help me see and understand aspects of humanity that I’d never witnessed in real life, only in fiction. He was civil and he treated me like a person. Not to mention, he made me laugh. I cannot reiterate that enough. It has truly only been since I met Jeremy, that I understood how good it felt to laugh. And that feeling is a large part of the reason that I’m smitten. Now that I’ve got a taste of that feeling, I would be distraught if I knew I would not get to have that again if I stopped hanging out with him.
The dinner was fabulous. We stuffed ourselves with the absolute best pasta, bread, salad and red wine. And tiramisu! Something else I had never experienced before. The waiter said it had just been made that day. It was decadent and heavenly
. Chocolate coffee flavored silk. I don’t know if filling yourself to the brink of explosion is really romantic but I do know I enjoyed every sip and every bite. And every word that Jeremy and I exchanged. Every laugh. Every gaze. Every moment with him at that restaurant, as he sat across from me at the booth, never once touching me. Just food, wine and conversation.
After dinner, I asked Jeremy to take me back to the bar so I could help Sara close up. It was a weeknight so the bar closed a little earlier than on the weekends. He obliged and even stayed to help clean like he had done every other night for a week. I told Sara to go home and we would lock up because she not so subtly mentioned she was dead tired and had to get up early. I really think she didn’t want to be our third wheel and Jeremy insisted on staying and walking me home.
She winked at me slyly as she walked out the door.
Jeremy and I sat down and had our traditional few glasses of bourbon.
Well, if you call doing the same thing every night for a week tradition.
We talked some more and laughed so much. And after we finally locked up, he walked me home.
There was no way he was seeing the inside of my apartment just yet. Not until I made an effort to clean it. But a walk to the front door would be harmless.
On the way, Jeremy explained to me where he lived. It was only a few blocks from the bar but in the opposite direction of my house. Mine was only a few blocks away as well. Midway through our stroll, Jeremy grabbed my hand and held it while we walked. He didn’t ask but he didn’t demand it either. He just did it and I didn’t waver. When his fingers touched mine, I swear there was a blue arc of electricity between our palms before our hands joined together completely. It was probably just static from the crisp night’s air, but either way, it put my heart into over drive and I was thankful it was dark because as hot as my face felt, I’m certain it was at red as it’s ever been. I felt like such a juvenile for feeling this way over a boy at my age, but I tried to keep my humility in check. I would think about why he made me feel this way later, in the comfort of my own quiet, dark room, when thoughts of that curious nature always seem to swirl in my head. We walked hand in hand for what seemed like hours. But in reality the walk to my house was only about ten minutes.
