by Devyn Dawson
“Oh shit Holland, he’s singing it to you,” Bethany bumps me as she whispers in my ear. “You need to jump on that before someone else snags him up.” She shrugs her shoulders, “Just sayin’.”
No matter how hard I try, I’m rendered useless and can’t break the connection we’re having in front of all these people. As he finishes the song not only does everyone clap, but people are leaning over and telling me that my boyfriend is awesome. Boyfriend? No, he’ll spend five minutes at my table and find a crazy excuse to leave and I’ll never see him again. I turn back toward the stage and he’s moved a stool out to sit down. He’s pulling the mic stand until the mic is right at his mouth. He rests the guitar on his leg and starts singing Losing My Way, and tapping his thumb on the black guitar. The lyrics are scary and he’s singing them with conviction. This time, he doesn’t look my direction, instead he focuses on his guitar. The crowd snaps in rhythm of every thumping sound he makes. He sings the last lyric and the crowd jumps to their feet and give him a much deserved ovation. He’s not a regular guy, there’s something more to him. How I know it, I don’t know, but I do.
Sam jumps up to get another beer and to talk to a girl who was flirting with him a while ago. No one else will sing for another hour and the first guy will be back to sing. Bethany is telling me about her sister’s invention to lock your bedroom door with the clap of your hands and I’m wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs. How do I go from self-sufficient control freak to a nervous groupie? From behind, someone has put their hand on the back of my chair and my jittery nerves cause me to jump a foot out of my chair.
Tate and Bethany laugh like old friends as he sits down in the chair to my left. The square table is pub sized, barely large enough for our drinks so I hold the book in my lap so it won’t get wet. There’s something familiar about him and this moment. His presence depletes the oxygen from my lungs making it difficult not to breathe.
“You were really good, Tate. Do you know what you’re going to sing before you go on stage?” Bethany asks in her breezy easy going way.
“Not always. I change it up for the crowd. Some of the songs are crowd favorites others aren’t. This crowd is eclectic and they were easy to entertain with both super old songs and newer ones. Some crowds only like one or the other, making it hard to know until you do a song and it flops,” Tate says as he makes a quarter weave between his fingers. My eyes are drawn to his hand, his nails are short but clean, he’s tan so he likes to be outside. He doesn’t have a lot of hair on his hand, why this is something I notice is beyond me.
“I can’t imagine anything to be a flop. You’re really great, have you ever been offered a deal?” Bethany’s enthusiasm makes the conversation interesting instead of one of those awkward conversations that end up turning everyone off.
A guy walking by pats Tate on the shoulder. “You rocked that Johnny Cash song, Ring of Fire. Will you be out here again?”
“Thanks man, they asked if I could come out in a couple of weeks. I have to check my schedule, but I’m pretty sure I will.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for the flyer. See ya,” the guy says and walks away.
Suddenly, people were all coming over and telling him what a great job he did and what their favorite song was. Tate is cool with everyone who talks to him. A couple of people offered to buy him a drink, but he declined. He never had a chance to answer Bethany’s question and I have the vibe he didn’t want to answer it. Bethany was happy to have the attention at our table. A couple of guys bought her a beer or two. Right now, I’m not the poor girl fighting to keep the electricity on. During our fourth trip to the restroom, the guy who Bethany was flirting with, came over to get her phone number. Suddenly, she doesn’t have to go to the bathroom as much as I do so I go without her.
Bethany isn’t where I left her and she isn’t at the table either. Sam is good at keeping tabs on her so I ignore it and to my disappointment, Tate and his guitar aren’t at our table. Great, everyone bailed on me the minute I was gone long enough to make the escape. Sam comes over and tells me Bethany is outside with that guy and she’d meet us at the car. He said Tate was talking to a group of people and he disappeared. Now, I’m the girl who can clear a room and the poor girl.
That guy and Bethany are sitting on the tailgate of the truck parked next to me and are drunk kissing. It isn’t pretty. They’re draped all over each other. It takes Sam a couple of times clearing his throat to get her attention. She looks up bashfully and not so discreetly, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Bethany takes a sharpie out of her purse and writes her number on his wrist.
“Let’s go, Beth, I have a couple of people coming to the house for drinks,” Sam says and checks his phone.
“You do?” I ask.
“You’re staying for drinks too, don’t give me that look,” Sam says with a flash of his toothy smile.
“I can’t, I have to study for a final.” I haven’t told them the depth of my father’s issues. If they knew I am basically the parent and he’s the emo teenager, they’d label me a big loser. I’m not. When I have to parent my dad, I am. Sam rolls his eyes at me. “One day, I’m going to jab a toothpick in your eyes to keep them from rolling back in your head.”
“Violent much? Are you going home to torture kittens?” Sam opens the car door and climbs into the back seat. Bethany called shotgun so he gets to be crowded with his long legs.
“No, I only torture humans, kittens are cute.” I put my key in the ignition to start the car. A knock on my window makes me jump and scream. Tate is standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face. He motions for me to get out of the car to talk to him. Sam reminds me he has company coming over.
I step out and follow him to the back of my car. I inhale, and get a whiff of his cologne. Sexy cologne. The kind that makes me all mushy inside.
He has his hands in his front pockets, he actually looks vulnerable and that is sexy to me. I wonder what he’s thinking. On the trunk of my car is a small brown shopping bag that looks like a gift bag. The stamp across it says, Raven Bookstore. He picks it up and hands it to me.
“This is for you.” He looks down on the ground and up at me.
Inside the bag is the book of poetry I had on the table. I glance up and smile at him, dumbfounded that he bought it for me. “Thank you, that’s so nice of you.” I don’t know what else to say, a part of me wants to hug him, and the other part…the sensible one says, creepy.
“I thought you left and forgot to get the book since it was scooted over by me.”
“Oh, yeah, I did forget it. I’ve been hoping to get a copy for a long time. Every time I’m in the store, they’re sold out. If you thought I left, what were you going to do?”
“Funny you should ask. I was planning on showing up to your work and giving it to you. I saw Bethany and some guy so I figured you were still here so I stayed in the parking lot until I saw you. That sounds really stalkerish. Crap, I’m a stalker,” he smiles at me and I can’t stop from smiling back.
“Yeah, you’re a stalker. If I catch you singing outside my bedroom window, I’m definitely going to call the cops.” I try to sound flirty so he won’t think he’s scaring me.
“Mental note, no singing outside of Holland’s bedroom. During our brief time together, I notice you like lattes. I’ve actually never seen anyone drink so many and plan on sleeping. You do sleep, don’t you? You’re not one of those binge on coffee at night and sleep all day people are you?” We laugh as he dances around whatever he’s about to say. “There’s this great coffee place, it’s small, but they make the best coffee. I’m sure their lattes are just as good too. Would you like to go have coffee tomorrow?”
What the what? He just asked me out. The girl living inside of me is about to faint, I feel her teetering over. Thankfully, I’ve mastered the art of hiding her from the world. These bootie jeans are my lucky charm. I’m off all weekend except for making the bank deposit, I don’t have to clock in at all. “Coffee sounds great. Tel
l me where and what time and I’ll meet you there.”
“Give me your cell number and I’ll text you the name and address. How about one-thirty?”
“Let me have your phone and I’ll put in my number. One-thirty is good for me.”
He smiles and nods his head a little. “Cool, see you then.” I watch him as he walks away, he turns around and waves.
I practically jumped into the car. Sitting in my seat, I turn to Bethany and shriek. She shrieks back. The two of us shriek together.
“OH MY GOD! DON’T SCREAM LIKE THAT AGAIN!” Sam demands.
Bethany and I look at each other one more time and let out one final voice-blowing scream.
“This girl got asked out on a date!” I say pointing at myself. My cell phone vibrates.
COOL CAR. DRIVE SAFE ~ TATE
I read the text once to myself and once out loud. Best night ever.
***
Chapter Three. Kiss
After trying on every single pair of jeans I own and every shirt in my closet, I decide I don’t possess any date clothes. Especially without Andy to call and borrow anything from her closet. Andy’s mom called to tell me that she boxed up her clothes and wants me to have them. In my heart, Andy would want me to take her stuff, but in my head it makes it too final. I called her back and agreed to go over there tomorrow. It isn’t fair of me to disappear from their lives. I don’t want to upset her mom, so I’ve kept my distance.
I dig in my dirty clothes hamper, knowing my favorite jeans are in there. I hold them to my nose and sniff test them. The jeans reek like clove cigarettes. Sam was chain smoking cloves the other night. Without the energy to keep looking in my closet, I decide on a sundress.
Do other people test their clothes before going on a date? I dance around in front of the mirror to make sure I won’t flash my little bitty teeny panties from the mall. It passes the, oh I dropped my keys and have to bend over and pick them up, test. And the, oh my, the wind is blowing and I’m in full skirt alert mode. And the panty-line test. I’ve successfully spent two hours changing clothes and now to do my hair and make-up.
The coffee shop is by Hefner Lake, in Oklahoma City. I try not to be too early, I have a horrible habit of being fifteen to thirty minutes early everywhere I go. My mother was the same way. Back when she was a good mom, we were a full hour early on my first day of Kindergarten. We waited in the car and talked about all the fun school was going to be for me. Mom was wrong, school sucked. I hated all the rules and kids made fun of me because I was missing my two front bottom teeth. I had knocked them out when I fell on the coffee table at the ripe age of three. It took until third grade before they grew back. By that point, my nickname was, Jolly Holly Snaggletooth. Like a damn Dr. Seuss character. That all happened before we were poor and my dad was crazy.
I ease my Charger over the speed bumps in the parking lot and park in a spot that won’t give me car dings. I’m only fifteen minutes early and he isn’t here yet. Tate said he’d text me when he arrived, so we can walk in together. I open the ereader on my phone to finish off the last five pages of this crazy vampire book I’m reading. It is bloody and strange with the meanest characters I’ve ever read in a book. For whatever reason, I love it. I can’t get enough of the book.
The rumbling of a motorcycle pulling in next to me makes me jump. I close out the app and turn my attention to the biker as he takes off his gloves and it’s his hands that I notice first. He unsnaps his helmet and pulls it off like unwrapping a present, the prize at the end is Tate. And that is what Andy would’ve called a panty dropping moment. Is this guy for real? My eyes are drawn to the bike. The solid black bike with chrome pipes is incredibly sexy. He is like a walking cliché, with his tattoo, muscular build, guitar, and a sleek motorcycle.
I slide my phone in my purse before getting out of my car. Whatever his job is, it must pay very well. “Motorcycle guy huh? You’re not in a gang are you?” I make a reference to a biker show that my dad watches every once in a while.
Tate chuckles as he says, “No, I’m a loner. I try to stay on the right side of the law. You look really pretty.” He holds the door open for me like no other guy I’ve gone out with. The rich aroma of coffee practically knocks me off my feet.
“Thank you.” I’ve never been able to take a compliment without blushing. His hand lightly brushes the small of my back as he guides me to the ordering area. Goose bumps run up and down my arms at his touch.
“So, what do you want to try? Carmel cinnamon latte? How about fiery hot latte with a shot of hot sauce?”
“I’ll try the vanilla bean latte, sorry, I’m simple. Simple girl, simple taste,” I reply. So far, it’s easy being near him.
“I like simple, it keeps life less complicated. There’s enough complications in my world.” The barista comes over and he orders a large coffee with a shot of espresso and my latte. He gives the girl his name and I can tell she’s blown away by him. As an afterthought, she turns her attention to me and by the expression on her face, she doesn’t consider me competition. I give her my, go to hell glare and loop my arm through his as we go to the far end of the shop and sit down.
The girl at the counter calls out our order number. From behind, he has a great ass and I can see the muscles in his back underneath his black polo. He sits down and hands me an oatmeal cookie and my drink. “Thank you, I love oatmeal cookies. You’re definitely not in a gang, I have it on good authority that gang members don’t eat oatmeal cookies. They’re too healthy.”
“Good authority, huh? Gang members can’t be healthy?” He teases.
“I haven’t met one healthy one yet.”
I take a sip of my drink before adding a packet of sweetener. “I like it sweet.”
“Holland, there’s a question burning in my mind. Do you really make everyone with a rash bring in a picture that you can keep? I’ve wondered about it since that day. I’m sorry if I sounded rude, I didn’t mean to walk out like I did.”
Oh, for a split second I had forgotten about his visit to the store. “It really is a policy. If I give a refund without a picture to attach to the paperwork and I send it in to corporate, they take the money from my check.”
“Wow, they’re serious about proof. I bet something happened to make them so strict.” He takes a bite of his cookie and then a sip of his coffee.
I pick up the crumbs that fell from my cookie and set them in my napkin. “One of the stores on the east coast was giving away refunds fraudulently. I’m not sure about the details, I just do what they tell me to do.”
“I understand. I do to.”
“Yeah? What do you do?” I ask.
“I’m an air traffic controller in the Air Force. I’m stationed at Tinker Air Force Base.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. Of course he’s military. Isn’t that what I thought originally? Dammit. His hair is longer than it was when I saw him the first time. After last night, I figured he was just a singer.
“Is everything okay? Are you allergic to air traffic controllers?” He asks.
I open my eyes and smile like an idiot I’m sure. “Not air traffic controllers.”
“Air Force?” His left eyebrow arches and his forehead crinkles as he waits for me to answer.
Damn, he’s military. I shrug my shoulders, buying time to answer him. “Yeah. No. I don’t know. It’s the whole military thing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we have a military, but I’ve always been warned to stay away from them.”
“Did a guy break your heart or something?” He leans back in his chair but keeps his hands on the table.
I shake my head no. “Nothing like that. My dad has always warned me about military guys. He says that they’ll either break my heart, or steal my heart and I would end up following them wherever they get stationed.” There, I said it.
Tate reaches over and takes my hand in his. “Look, I’m not like everyone else. My job doesn’t get transferred very often. There’s guys who’ve been stationed at Tinker sinc
e they went into the military twenty years ago. We do go away every once in a while to other countries. I don’t run with anyone really. The other guys in my dorms all want to party and meet girls. I don’t want to party, and playing music is my thing. One day, I’d like to make a record. It isn’t something I’m pursuing right now, but I will eventually. There’s a couple of videos of me on Youtube, they’ve done pretty good but not viral. Everyone’s trying to go viral these days.” The rich tone of his voice draws me into him.
My hand feels sweaty and I can’t help but wonder if he’s second guessing holding it. “So, you’re not getting stationed anywhere else that you’re aware of?”
“Nope, but I never say never, as the cliché says. I like you, Holland. I want to get to know you better. Will you give me a chance?”
Who can resist that? “Yes, I’d like that. But there’s a condition.”
His eyebrow arches at me again.
“You can’t meet my dad. He’s very serious about military guys and I don’t want to hear him. If this goes nowhere, no harm done.”
His lip curls up in his award winning smile. “I’ll agree, but I hope one day I’ll get to meet him.”
He’s good at this charm thing he has going on.
“Tell me about Holland. What’s your story? I know where you work, you like lattes, you have excellent taste in musicians, but what else do you do?”
“There isn’t too much to tell. I take online college courses. Everyone thinks they’re easier, but I like having the professor in a live setting. The only reason I do is it makes it easier for my crazy work schedule. I like the freedom of logging in to class at my convenience. I’m not much of a morning person, so I don’t like to take classes in the mornings. It doesn’t bother me to open the store, it isn’t at the butt-crack of dawn. School first thing in the morning is kind of a bummer.”
“Bummer, now that’s an under used word. I like it though. Would you like a refill? Another cookie? I’m going to go grab another cup of coffee and then chew large amounts of gum to rid myself of coffee breath.”
