by Amy Vansant
“So, see you after work?”
“Yep,” she said before she realized he wouldn’t be bringing the puppy.
How does he always manage to get me to agree to things before I know what I’m saying?
After Mark left, all Emily could do was hope to find the strength to turn him down next time. Unless he appeared with a basket of kittens, or a baby hedgehog wearing a monocle and top hat, then all bets were off.
Emily and Mark left work to grab dinner. Mark was a pleasant companion. While there was no chance he’d launch into a dissertation on the rise of the anti-hero in modern television, or run through a list of U.S. Presidents by year of election, he was always in good spirits and he listened when people talked. He was sweet and insanely hot.
Emily wanted to fall in love with him. She really did. There was just something missing.
In the middle of their entrées, Mark’s phone rang. It was his buddy inviting him to a pay-per-view wrestling match. Mark asked Emily to accompany him, but she respectfully declined and suggested he go without her; effectively removing the wrestling match between herself and her own raging hormones from the evening’s fight card.
Driving home, Emily found herself thinking about the man with whom she really wanted to pet a puppy. She’d had daydreams in which Sebastian and she bought a puppy together. Emily wondered if that was odd. She definitely couldn’t ask Tessa. Tessa would have her committed.
Emily didn’t know why she was so obsessed with Sebastian; she had barely talked to him, and other than the time he’d actively turned her down, they’d never been alone. Her obsession with the boy reminded her of corny novels where the lead characters’ eyes met and they fell in love like victims of a witch’s spell. It made no sense, but it was wonderful, even if, presently, a tad bittersweet.
Mark was sweet and fun to ogle, but sometimes conversations with him were like trying to pull-start a bad motor. Mark’s dad didn’t have an engine part to fix that. The night they’d broken her wall, they’d ended up watching a movie where the hero spent a lot of time sweating and carrying guns. Emily didn’t mind; she liked movies she didn’t have to think about, but this particular film lacked any sense of style or intrigue. She’d heard better plot lines spring from the mouth of her neighbor’s six-year-old playing pretend in the front yard. Emily now thought the kid might be a genius. She’d seen him create dialog for two trashcans, three bushes and a tree that made more sense than anything she’d heard in the film she’d watched with Mark.
Good scripts or not, Hollywood couldn’t make enough action films to fill a lifetime with Mark.
Emily didn’t know if she and Sebastian would click intellectually any better than she did with Mark. She just had a feeling. A debate raged in her head over whether her infatuation with Sebastian was a byproduct of loneliness or love at first sight. She wasn’t sure she believed in love at first sight. It had never happened before. On the other hand, she’d been single for nearly two years and during that time, had never been so inexplicably attracted to someone.
Maybe if she could discover the origin of Sebastian’s attractive, unknowable quality, she could approach her feelings for him more sensibly.
Stalking Sebastian wasn’t crazy; it was a scientific pursuit.
Emily promised herself she wouldn’t go to the Irish Rover. She promised herself repeatedly as she made a U-turn and headed back downtown. She promised herself as she pulled into the parking lot of the Rover.
Emily was both disappointed and relieved to find big Benny alone in the dart snug. She hadn’t seen Sebastian since asking him out and feared their next, awkward encounter. Emily relaxed, safe in the knowledge she could remain an anonymous rejectee for a little while longer. Hopefully, Sebastian hadn’t told everyone he knew about the stupid girl who’d come to his work to ask him out. He didn’t seem the gossipy sort. If he were, at least his blabbermouth behavior would help turn her off her fool’s errand to seduce him.
“Hey Benny,” she said, tossing her dart case on the snug bar.
“Hey. Back for some more punishment?”
Benny unzipped his dart case and retrieved his darts, checking the flight on each as he placed them on the bar.
She slapped a five-dollar bill on the bar. “I robbed a liquor store on the way here and told them to give me all their fives.”
“You’re going to need them.”
“Just step to the line, sucker. I could use the practice before the real dart players show up.”
“You’re implying I’m not one of the heavy hitters?”
Benny walked to the line of board one, the preferred location...it was a foot closer to the bar. He threw, missed the board, and watched his dart clatter to the ground.
“Noooo,” said Emily.
Benny and Emily threw a few practice rounds and then “diddled for the middle,” a phrase she’d discovered wasn’t nearly as pornographic as it sounded. Both aimed to hit the bull’s-eye, owner of the closest dart went first.
Emily won the diddle. She’d hoped to hit three twenties and close that number with her opening salvo, but instead, she’d hit one twenty, missed to the left (the one) and slopped into an eighteen, which, luckily, was a number that counted. She marked the chalk scoreboard accordingly and Benny stepped to the line for his turn.
“Nice slop,” he said.
“Oh, I meant to do that,” said Emily, taking a sip of the Chicken Club she found on the bar. Anyone who drank Chicken Clubs became part of the “bottomless vodka” club. She didn’t need to order drinks anymore. She showed up, and a Chicken Club magically manifested. The hard part was stopping the appearance of drinks when it came time to leave. Sometimes she stayed at the Rover an additional hour because she was slow to ask for her check and found herself bound to a new cocktail. Who was she to complain about prompt service?
Emily gulped her drink in preparation for Sebastian’s arrival. She needed liquid courage to see him again.
Benny and Emily threw two more games. Between the smack talk and chit chat, Benny mentioned Sebastian.
“Does Sebastian have a girlfriend?” Emily asked.
Benny paused and studied Emily. She found his silence unnerving.
“Dark hair with, uh...” Emily trailed off. Benny picked up her slack.
“Huge whoppers? Gazongas? Melons?”
“Bingo.”
“Yeah, that’s Greta.” He shook his head, a gesture she didn’t miss.
“What was that?”
“What?”
“You shook your head.”
Benny shrugged. “Greta’s kind of a pain in the ass.”
“How so?” Emily prodded. She couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t have been happier if Benny had just cured the common cold.
“She’s just...” He rolled his eyes and snapped his four fingers against his thumb like he was working a hand puppet. “Bitch bitch bitch, moan moan moan, me, me, me.”
“She complains a lot?”
“Yes. But it’s more diabolical than that. She loves drama. Feeds off it.”
“Really? Sebastian doesn’t seem like the drama-loving type.”
“He isn’t.”
“So why is he with her?”
“Well, off the top of my head I can give you two reasons,” said Benny, throwing his darts. He hit one twenty and missed twice.
Emily waited for Benny to continue. He noticed her expectant gaze and cupped his hands a foot in front of his pectoral muscles.
“Duh,” he said.
“Oh. Those two reasons.”
“Sebastian doesn’t talk about his love life, one way or the other. But I can tell you he doesn’t seem happy. Whatever powers ‘the girls’ had on him, wore off a long time ago, but he’s terrible at breaking up with people. I think his last girlfriend was celebrating her fiftieth wedding anniversary with some other guy before Sebastian found the guts to break up with her.”
Emily heard the sound of angels singing. Sebastian was unhappy. Hallelujah!
&n
bsp; Emily’s smirk caught Benny’s attention.
“Look at you. You love my man, Sebastian.”
Emily’s felt her cheeks flush crimson. She considered pretending she was asking about Sebastian for a friend, but knew she sucked at lying.
“Sooooo...you think they’re just about done?” she asked.
“Who?” said Sebastian, walking through the door, directly behind Benny.
Emily felt the blood drain from her cheeks. She knew she must have blushed and then gone pale within a matter of seconds. She felt lightheaded. She’d probably missed brain damage by a hair’s breath.
“Brad Pitt,” said Benny, without missing a beat. He plucked the last of his three darts from the board and turned to shake Sebastian’s hand. “We were talking about Brangelina.”
Sebastian shrugged, uninterested in Hollywood gossip.
“Hey,” Emily said to Sebastian, flicking her head back and forward in the standard, super-cool, I’m-acknowledging-your-presence maneuver.
“Hey,” said Sebastian. He held her gaze for a moment and twitched a half-wink. Whether he did it to let her know there was no reason for her to feel awkward, or by accident, she didn’t know; but it was a playful gesture, and it made her feel better. The color returned to her cheeks. For the first time, she thought she might survive the evening and not die of embarrassment.
Hall and Oates’ Rich Girl came on the radio. The Rover spared patrons the Irish jigs until later at night. Sebastian hummed along to the song.
“Little known fact,” said Emily. “Hall wrote this song about a stuck-up boy who used to date his girlfriend, but changed it to ‘girl’ because it worked better that way for the radio.”
Sebastian nodded. “Huh. I absolutely do not know what to do with that information.”
Emily looked at her toes. “I like trivia,” she mumbled.
“Hit me with another,” said Sebastian.
Emily looked up at him. “Really? Um, did you know the dot on a lowercase i is called a ‘tittle?’”
Both Sebastian and Benny burst into laughter.
“Okay, maybe that was a bad choice,” admitted Emily.
Sean delivered Sebastian his obligatory Chicken Club. Taking a seat at the snug bar, Sebastian leaned against the dividing wall and surveyed the game’s chalk scoreboard.
“Looks like you’re getting your ass kicked, Ben,” he said.
Emily was winning, but not by much.
“I’m up next,” he added.
“Alrighty there, Superman,” said Benny.
Emily stepped to the line to throw. Benny looked past her, and she paused, curious to what had drawn his attention.
“And here comes Lois Lane,” he mumbled.
Someone knocked into Emily’s shoulder, just as she prepared to throw. She ceased her forward motion and stepped from the line. Without acknowledging Emily, Greta breezed past to stand next to Sebastian at the bar.
“Seriously, Greta?” said Sebastian. “People are trying to play. You can’t bump into them on the line.”
“Sorry,” said Greta without looking at Emily.
Sebastian looked agitated. “Hurry up. What do you need? Or move over here while people are playing.” He gestured to the seat beside him.
“I’m not staying. I’m meeting Sydney next door. Don’t forget we have to help my sister move tomorrow. You promised.”
Sebastian reached into his pocket and pulled out a hard pack of Camel Lights and a lighter. He nodded a yes as he drew a cigarette from the pack and dropped his head to light it. When he looked up, he seemed surprised to find Greta still standing there.
“Got it,” he muttered from the left corner of his mouth, the other side clenching the cigarette.
Emily hadn’t smoked since college and hated the smell of cigarettes permeating her hair and clothes every post-Rover evening, but she couldn’t get over how sexy Sebastian looked smoking. She’d have to cure him of the habit eventually, of course, but for now, she’d let it slide. It was like crushing on a ’40s film icon.
Greta glanced at Benny, gave Emily a visual once-over, and then left the bar. Emily could tell by Greta’s countenance that she didn’t consider Emily a threat.
Benny chuckled. “What time is your curfew, Sebastian? I always forget.”
“Funny,” said Sebastian. “You’re a funny guy.”
Emily took her turn and returned to her cocktail, which happened to be sitting on the bar very close to Sebastian’s.
Emily watched Sebastian chew on his lip, deep in thought. He looked up and, caught staring, Emily’s face spasmed. Her first instinct had been to look away, but it was too late. Captured by Sebastian’s gaze, half of Emily’s face bolted to the left, while the other half played it cool. The result felt like fighting a sneeze.
Aghast by her own contorting face, Emily released a tiny moan, shorthand for the full-blown scream of horror she’d released internally.
Seriously, how could Sebastian not succumb to sexy moves like the full-face-spasm-grunt?
“I don’t understand Superman and Lois Lane,” Sebastian said, his eyes never leaving Emily’s. He didn’t burst out laughing, so she held some small hope that her face spasm hadn’t been as noticeable as it felt.
“What?” Emily asked. Her voice sounded like a chick peeping for its mother.
“What’s the attraction? Superman couldn’t get Lois Lane. Not that she’s anything special, but Superman doesn’t even have a job.”
Emily laughed. “What are you talking about? Superman has a job! He’s a reporter.”
“For the Daily Planet,” said Benny. “I think. Or is that Spider-Man? Doesn’t he work at a paper, too?”
“He’s like a beat reporter,” said Sebastian, pulling his darts from his pocket. “Plus, with the Internet and everything, he’s probably been laid off by now. What would Lois see in him?”
“He’s Superman. He can give Lois anything she wants,” said Emily.
Sebastian scoffed. “Except a house and three squares a day.”
Benny finished his turn and Emily moved to the line to throw her darts. She tried to ignore the conversation because it was making her laugh, but to no avail.
“Superman could burrow into the ground and bring back diamonds,” said Benny. “He doesn’t need a job.”
Sebastian shook his head, put a five-dollar bill on top of Benny’s and then stepped to the second board’s line to throw practice darts.
“Superman would consider that stealing,” he said, cigarette bobbing in his lips as he talked. “Or at the very least, stealing jobs from Africans or wherever the diamond mines were. Morally, he couldn’t do it. He’d be broke. If I could be a super hero, I’d be Batman.”
Emily was staring at Sebastian as he talked. What he’d said about Batman began to register, and as an avid superhero fan and recovering comic book enthusiast, she found herself piqued.
“Batman doesn’t even have superpowers,” she said. “You’d have to work out and stay in shape.”
“But I'd be super rich,” said Sebastian. “I wouldn’t have to worry about anything. I mean, I’d be a little moody...”
“You’d be moody as hell,” said Benny. “That guy is nuts.”
“I’d dig a tunnel from my house to the neighbor’s and use that as my bat cave,” said Sebastian, ignoring Benny. Sebastian stared into space, lost in his Batman daydream.
“The neighbors might have something to say about you popping up in their living room,” offered Emily.
Sebastian shrugged. “I like Aquaman, too.”
“I have no idea what he does for a living,” she said. “Aquaman is next to useless.”
Sebastian looked at Emily as if she was crazy.
“Um, he can talk to dolphins. Hellooo...”
“Big deal! How often does talking to dolphins come in handy?”
“If you could talk to them, you would know.”
“Aquaman is kinda cool,” mumbled Benny.
“Aquaman is stupid,” sh
e said. “I'd be Jean Grey from the X-Men. She has telepathy and telekinesis which—”
Sebastian cut her off.
“First off, you know way too much about comic books and you’re starting to geek out. Second, Jean whoever-she-is, is not a real person.”
“None of them are real people!”
“I mean she doesn’t count,” clarified Sebastian. “You have to choose from classic superheroes. Superman, Batman...”
“They're all DC comics.”
“Then DC rules. Wait, what is Daredevil?”
“Who’s Daredevil?” asked Benny.
“A blind guy, but all his other senses are heightened,” said Emily. “Daredevil is Marvel. You read Daredevil? You can’t call me a geek if you know who Daredevil is; he’s not that well known.”
“I live with Daredevil. Only he’s a dog. If Daredevil is Marvel, then definitely DC rules.”
Emily scowled at Sebastian. “A dog? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t ask.”
“I'm more of a Marvel person,” Emily said, letting it drop. “I used to read X-Men.”
She toyed with the idea of admitting she had a large collection of X-Men comics at home. She’d collected them in college; she’d found reading about the strong female leads therapeutic while suffering through a bad breakup. Sebastian was having a superhero argument, but nerdom of the “I own 2000 comic books” level might be too much this early in their relationship.
“When did the X-Men show up?” asked Sebastian. “Like the ’60s? They don’t count. They’re freaks. They probably work as carnies when they aren’t fighting crime.”
“They don’t work as carnies!” she said, her voice rising to glass-breaking levels. She cleared her throat, and made a conscious effort to calm down.
No one was going to call Gambit and Wolverine carnies.
Sebastian stared at Emily and sucked his tooth with his tongue, the cigarette between his long fingers sending a thin strand of smoke into the air above his head. He smiled just enough to activate the laugh line-dimple hybrid to the right of his mouth.
