The Hipster Chronicles

by Faith Andrews

  I wedged my way through the crowd of suspender-wearing, handlebar-mustache-sporting, whiskey-drinking barely legals and scored an empty seat at the bar. I placed the guitar on the floor between my legs and took pride in how I seemed to fit in with the vibe thanks to my instrumental accessory. When the bartender—a girl with a platinum blonde pixie cut and lips the shade of raven’s blood—pointed to the chalkboard with the drink specials, I ordered a malt beer instead of my usual Blue Moon. Pixie girl gave me a thumbs up and set to pouring my drink.

  I smiled, wishing I could high-five myself. I was doing it. Finally! It only took four years, one divorce, and sixty minutes with a hipster hottie, but this shy Arizona girl was taking life by the horns and adapting to her chic surroundings.

  My curious gaze scanned the bar, taking in the throng of trendy folks I so wanted to emulate. When Charlie and I first moved here, I was overwhelmed. He dove right in, growing his beard to almost ZZ Top length and replacing more than half his wardrobe with plaid. I was more of a gradual adaptee—careful not to come off as an imposter. Now, however, I was dying to blend in. Unfortunately, the divorce set me back some in the socializing department—you kinda hole yourself up after your high school sweetheart stomps on your heart and crushes all the dreams you envisioned for your future. But today was a new day—a step in the right direction—and I was feeling oh, so good from my encounter with Milo.

  Lifting the frosty glass and blowing at the thin layer of foam, I lifted the beer into the air and toasted to myself. “To . . . Just Strummin’ It!” I took a swig and slammed the glass down, only to be startled by a familiar grip on my shoulders.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Milo announced and tapped his LUCKY hand on the bar to get the bartender’s attention.

  I was momentarily speechless, my smile preceding my voice. My cheeks ached with an uncontrollable grin as I managed to gush, “What are you doing here?” To say I was surprised was an understatement. I was floored. Pleasantly floored, but flabbergasted nonetheless.

  “Scotch on the rocks,” he told the bartender, and without making eye contact with me, he blurted, “I followed you.”

  In this effed up day and age of perverts and weirdos, that should’ve made me nervous. Instead it made me giddier than I cared to admit.

  “I thought you had another lesson.” I sipped my beer as if this whole exchange wasn’t making me tremble in my leopard-printed TOMS.

  “I had someone cover for me.” He still hadn’t made eye contact, but his body was mere inches from mine. One of his legs was bent with his foot resting on the bar rail, his right hand draped around the back of my stool. It was all very predatory, as if he was claiming me, and I didn’t mind it, not one bit. No, siree, Bob.

  This mysterious, beautiful man followed me, rearranged his schedule for me, made an effort for me. An hour ago, we were two unsuspecting strangers. And now, here we were, in this utterly awkward yet insanely thrilling predicament.

  Was this how everyone around here went about wooing and courting? Or had I been living under a veil of naivety during my decade-long relationship with Charlie? Was that even what he was doing—pursuing me? I couldn’t tell because his answers were so clipped and cryptic. I never knew that could be a turn-on, but it totally was and it awakened a boldness in me that had lain dormant for most of my life.

  I didn’t know how to disguise my eagerness, so I grazed my lower lip with my teeth and tightened my grip on the no-longer-frosty glass before asking for an explanation that required more than three words. “Why?”

  “Because.” So much for that. His Caribbean-Sea-colored eyes sought out mine. They scanned my face, a smile creeping across his sexy mouth.

  “That’s not an answer,” I prodded, adoring the way his pupils had dilated.

  “Is this?” Without warning, Milo leaned in and kissed me. His lips were soft—just as I imagined—and his beard prickled my skin—much as I hoped. Shock had no time to register as his tongue swept the seam of my lips, petitioning access to my greedy mouth. Neither Milo, nor his tongue, were rejected. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt and allowed my tongue to dance with his in reckless abandon.

  All external components seemed to vanish around us as we lost ourselves in this unexpected but extremely satisfying kiss. It was the kind of kiss that turned your brain to mush, causing you to forget you were in public, making out with a man you’d only just met but wanted to get to know so much better.

  And I was about to shamelessly let him get to know me a lot better right here on the barstool had it not been for the sudden splash of bitter-smelling beer that soaked me from behind. “Shit!” I yelped, arching my back from the cold sensation.

  “Sorry! My bad!” A sloppily drunk patron patted my back with a few bar napkins.

  “It’s okay,” I huffed, shooing him and his efforts away.

  “You’re really wet.” Milo pinched his kiss-swollen lip and leaned closer to feel my shirt.

  I was really wet. And not just on my shirt. But I was also annoyed and cold and . . . I really wanted to get back to that kiss.

  “Talk about a buzzkill.” I frowned, although my buzz was still humming at heart galloping speed.

  Milo seemed to be on the same page because he gulped down the rest of his Scotch, leaned down and fisted the handle of my guitar case, and then pulled me off the barstool with his other hand wrapped around mine. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. I have a shirt you can borrow.”

  I paused, mentally warring with my inconsistent thoughts. You want this, Emmy. You know you do. But did I hear him correctly? Was that an invitation to his place? Could I really go through with this?

  Bucket list! Bucket list! Bucket list! My inner cheerleading squad convinced me to get out of my own head and take Milo’s proffered hand. I laced my fingers with his and took his lead.

  I paused midway through the crowd. Milo looked back with a brow raised at my delay. This was all so strange, I imagined I was still in bed, dreaming up this wild fantasy. But after secretly pinching myself in the thigh and appreciating my reality, I shrugged and decided to go with the Milo-led flow.

  Once outside, he released my hand and tucked his fingers in the back pocket of his jeans.

  “Where are we going?” I didn’t know why I bothered to ask. I was so smitten by him I would have followed him to the depths of hell with a smile.

  “My apartment,” he answered, peering at me with a mischievous side-eye.

  We walked in harmony, matching footstep for footstep, but I felt the need to put up some resistance to make sure he didn’t think I made a habit of doing this sort of thing. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

  “A beautiful one. With sweet lips and an even sweeter body. Besides, I got the vibe you wanted more than guitar lessons from me back at the studio.”

  “Is that so?”

  “That it is.”

  “You’re very sure of yourself, Milo.”

  “Not as sure as I am that that shirt won’t be bothering you much longer.”

  Wow, this guy. He was blunt and accurate because by the time we made it up the two flights of stairs to his cramped but well-kept loft his lips were on mine again and he was pulling my damp shirt over my head without a peep of defiance from me.

  “Milo.” I interrupted the fast pace of things as he unbuttoned his black denim skinny jeans.

  “Emmy?”

  “I’m not usually so . . .” How did I put this? Spontaneous? Eager? Slutty? “Free.” That was a good choice.

  Milo smirked and closed the distance between us as he slid his pants down his muscular legs. “I know. I can tell, but that’s the beauty of it, doll. Let me show you how to let loose; you’ve been begging for it since you walked in for your music lesson . . . And you didn’t even know it.” He whispered the last part and then leaned down to tease my neck with a lingering kiss. I tried not to react, but when his tongue dipped out to trace soft circles on my sensitive skin, my traito
rous body gave in, annihilating any misgivings.

  I dug my fingers into his messy waves and tugged so I could look into his eyes. Needy and hungry, they empowered me to take what I wanted. With his lips now available for tasting, I dove in for more. I’d only kissed one other guy in the eight months since the divorce and it was nothing to write home about, so this was the first real hookup since the end of my marriage. It felt like a revival of my spirit.

  “Damn, you’re a good kisser,” I admitted into his mouth between unruly breaths.

  “You too,” Milo grunted in response and then hooked his arms around my back, unclasping my bra. Bared for him, he took a step back and observed. I felt shy as his gaze coated my exposed skin, but then he grabbed me by the shoulders and guided me to a leather couch on the opposite end of the room.

  Laying me down gently, he spread my legs with his knee and then knelt on the cushion. My skin was on fire as he hovered over me, and his fingertips roamed my body. I watched his lips curl with pleasure as his eyes went along for the journey. His tongue traveled from my collarbone to my breasts in a ribbon of warmth. Cupping one in his hand, he clamped a nipple between his fingers and leaned down to suckle the other into his mouth. My body arched, begging for more. Milo sucked harder, circled the taut flesh and flicked it with his tongue. Then he bit down gently and sent me into a frenzy. “Oh, my God!” I moaned, already on the verge of orgasming.

  “You like that?” he asked as his nose and lips created a path of yearning below my belly button.

  “Uh huh,” I panted, my brain vacant of real words.

  “Then you’ll love this.” In one unbroken motion, he slid his fingers inside the waistbands of both my leggings and underwear and lifted my ass as he dragged off my clothing. Yanking them from my feet and chucking them to the side, he wasted no time in burying his face between my legs.

  “Holy fuck!” I anchored his mouth to my sex by burrowing my fingers in his hair.

  He mirrored the torturous pleasure he’d wreaked over my nipple, only this time my clit was the target for his tongue, lips, and teeth. Heat washed over me with blinding force as he took turns nibbling and lapping at my most sensitive spot. “Yes!” I shouted, my arms falling limp above my head, my thighs opening wider. And then one final nip at my throbbing flesh caused a bundle of riotous pressure to let loose and gush through my bloodstream.

  “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh. My. God,” I chanted as my body quaked with my release.

  Milo kissed my inner thigh and chuckled, then ascended the length of me until his mouth met mine. Swathing my cheek with his hand, he slipped his tongue inside my mouth again. I tasted myself on him and loved that he wanted to prove what he’d done to me.

  Sated and luxuriating in my afterglow, I still thought it only fair to return the favor. My fingers explored the band of his boxers but my efforts were put to a stop with a firm hold of my wrist.

  “Not tonight,” Milo uttered against my neck.

  I was taken aback by his blunt refusal. “But I want to.”

  “You will. Just not tonight.”

  Confusion got the best of me. “Huh?”

  Milo sat up and ran his palms down my sides. Goose bumps prickled my skin even as his heated gaze coated the bare flesh. His eyes were glued to mine when his hand reached my thigh and he fanned his fingers, his thumb reaching between my legs. I hissed when it found my slit and then slowly slid inside of me. “Tonight, is all about you, Emmy. Let me give you what you need.”

  This afternoon I was sure all I needed from Milo were a few guitar lessons. Now, I knew I required so much more. We never broke eye contact, even when he replaced his thumb with two other digits and began working me in slow thrusts. I panted as my hips sprang forward in time with his fingers.

  A wicked smile curled Milo’s lips. “Surrender to me for one night. Let me . . . teach you to let go. Let me give you what you need.”

  In that moment, I didn’t care that none of this made sense. We’d just met. How could he know how badly I needed to be set free to explore what I’d been missing for so long? Somehow it didn’t matter, because another monsoon of pleasure was about to rage through me. I would surrender to him all night if it meant feeling this good.

  MILO DID NOT wimp out on his promise. In fact, the only thing I could think about as I strolled to Starbucks to meet Jane the next morning was how well he kept that promise.

  I covered my mouth as I yawned in spite of how my body was satisfied straight down to the soul. While I enjoyed every last second of Milo’s titillating exploration, I got little sleep. There was nothing quite as embarrassing as taking the walk of shame at five-thirty in the morning in yesterday’s clothes—with a guitar slung across your back. After a shower and less than two hours of shuteye, I debated flaking out on my coffee date with Jane, but there was no way I could keep these erotic details to myself a minute longer. Sleep be damned—gossip now, nap later.

  The door to the coffee shop swung open and a mom with twin girls, each guzzling whipped cream topped lattes through signature green straws, scooted past me. “Sorry. Sugar high in full effect. On to the next stop,” she explained, rolling her eyes. “Is it September yet?”

  I laughed as I watched her scurry after her daughters. I remembered my mom wishing the summers away when I was a kid, too. I wanted constant entertainment, and being an only child meant my stay-at-home mom was also my one-woman show. Memories of the summer she taught me to swim in our backyard pool, our girls-only trip to Disneyland, and homemade tents and s’mores had me pining for her. I missed being only a quick car ride away from home. Another reason to hate Charlie. If not for my stubborn determination to make it here—without him—I’d be on the next plane to Arizona, safe in Mommy’s arms.

  But it wasn’t only a pride thing anymore. I had actually grown to love it here. The change of seasons, the buzz of so many different cultures and people, the feeling that anything and everything was right at my fingertips. I’d made friends, set a routine, and finally felt as if I was fitting in. Moving back because I was homesick from time to time would only prove to Charlie that I was stuck in the past and still dependent on my parents’ approval.

  Besides, I couldn’t turn my back on Brooklyn now. It took me in when I was wary and frightened; it comforted me with shiny new distractions when I missed everything I left behind; and now this beautiful borough was holding me in its warm embrace as I spread my wings and discovered who I wanted to be at this stage in my life.

  Ah Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.

  Are you aware the shape I’m in?

  My hands they shake, my head it spins.

  Ah Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.

  I recalled the Avett Brothers’ lyrics to “I and Love and You” and walked into Starbucks with a feeling of serenity. Brooklyn was my home now. There was no doubt about that.

  I scanned the room for my friend, but came up short. Her usual spot in the far right corner was empty and available so I forewent the long line at the register and parked my deliciously sore behind at Jane’s usual booth.

  I needed caffeine desperately, but the baristas were busy with the summer rush so I sat patiently and scrolled through my phone as I held our spot. Snapchat filters and my Instagram feed could not hold my attention, however, because my mind kept drifting to the previous night’s activities. A tingle of longing throbbed through my lady bits as I recalled the almost dominant way in which he pleased me. There were no whips and chains or anything like that, but he was adamant that each and every experience be all about me. At first, I worried he’d think I was selfish for surrendering so easily, but after the second or third scream-inducing orgasm, I realized he took pure enjoyment in giving pleasure as much as receiving it. Still, I hoped for a second roll in the sheets to show him I could hack it, too. We hadn’t set ground rules or made future plans, but when he kissed me good-bye at the crack of dawn this morning, he smiled mischievously when he mentioned next week’s lesson. A part of me hoped I’d get a chance to see
him again before then, but I wasn’t jumping the gun. I could do the screwing around for fun thing as long as I kept reminding myself that it was a normal part of being a single adult in this day and age. Getting some reassurance from a fellow single lady—aka Jane—would totally help my case.

  “And what’s got you grinning so brightly this fine Friday morning?” My adorable but sneaky friend startled me out of my daydream.

  “Summer Fridays?” I shrugged, but I could tell she wasn’t buying it.

  She scooted into the booth across from me and rested her laptop bag on the seat beside her. “I don’t see anyone else as googly eyed as you, and most of the city observes summer Fridays.” She looked around the busy room, her eyes lingering a moment too long on Ezra the scruffy barista, and then snapped her attention back to me.

  “What was that?” I asked, wondering if Jane had an ulterior motive for holing herself up in this booth three days a week.

  “What was what?”

  Without moving my head, I shifted my eyes toward Ezra and nonchalantly pointed a thumb in his direction. “You checking out Ezra?”

  “Who’s Ezra?”

  I tilted my head and gave my timid friend the stink eye. “Don’t play coy, young lady. You’re here almost every day and so is he. If I know his name, you do, too.”

  Waving off my inquisition, she slid her glasses up her nose and then set to rummaging through her bag for her wallet. She pulled it out and slapped the nasty fashion-don’t onto the table. “Emmy, I don’t come here to make friends. I come here for my coffee and to write. And speaking of which, are we going to order? I’ve got words to get in and I want to hear all about your night.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed her innocent act, but I wasn’t one to meddle. Especially not with someone as close-lipped as Jane. If she wanted to share guy gossip, she knew where to find me. I, on the other hand, was ready to spill the beans about Milo over a cold brew with a triple shot of espresso.

  I stood from the booth, noticing the line had diminished. Jane opened her—I couldn’t even bring myself to call the ugly plastic atrocity a wallet—thing to take out her gold card. I shooed it away and went to place our orders.