by Anthology
Brock shakes out his shoulders proudly, eager and ready as I turn around to grab a bottle of tequila.
“You can’t be serious?” Sean says while filling another pint of beer a couple feet away.
“Why the hell not?”
“Because …” His sentence trails off into the awkwardness still brewing between us.
I tap my ear a few times. “What was that? Speak up,” I retort with sass. I want him to tell me he doesn’t want another guy touching me, just as much as I wish I could tell him that I’m in love with him. But he doesn’t. He just rolls his eyes again, which is another disapproving maneuver that enforces the doubts I have. It fuels the fire inside me. If I can’t get Sean’s approval, I decide pissing him off is the next best thing and continue on. Maybe if I make him hate me it’ll be easier to watch him leave.
Filling a shot glass and placing it on the counter, I pull in a leveling breath as I slather a layer of salt over the back of my hand. My nerves make a surprise appearance as I try my damndest to ignore Sean surely staring at me from down the bar.
I shake my head. Refusing to think, I grab for a wedge of lime and turn my attention back to Brock.
“Ready?”
He unleashes a wide grin. The guy has a nice smile. There’s an innocence to it I immediately envy. He’s surely a few years younger than me, probably living an awesome life. Nights at the local bar, probably pre-law, and he most likely has well to-do parents who’d never let him fail. What a life. And here I am adding to the spice of it. We both benefit from the flare of attention and sexual zing it gives us in the moment, but why do I feel so guilty?
He’ll probably go home feeling mildly accomplished, and I’m hoping I’ll fall asleep feeling less lonely and attempt not to think about how I’m ruining everything between Sean and me.
I shake my shoulders out this time, placing the lime in my mouth.
Focusing on all the wrong things, I close my eyes as I lean forward. I’m ready to connect, seeking solace in a stranger, but when firm fingertips dig into my bare upper arm, my eyes fly open as I’m swung around to face Sean, who’s searing anger suddenly does something it never has before. It revs my blood, churning it hot and fast in my heart, rushing from one chamber to the next.
The booming bass from the band onstage is the only thing I can hear. No buzzing crowd. No chatter from Brock on the other side of the counter. Instead, my wide-eyed expression is locked on Sean who seems satisfied enough to let his grim smile peak upward at the corners into a smirk.
Everything happens so fast.
He grabs for my hand on the counter, bringing it to his mouth, and licks the salt from the back of it. It sends a current up my arm, spiraling around my thumping heart, which is gathering speed as it barrels up my throat. I know what’s next and that there’s no way to prepare for it. I must look like fool with this wedge in my mouth forming a Muppet like smile that might be hiding my real one as everything unfolds.
Sean grabs for the tequila shot from the bar before Brock has time to realize what’s happening. Sean downs it in a nanosecond before leaning into me to take the lime from my mouth and sucking, our lips making longer contact than necessary before he pulls away.
My lips tingle. I press them together in order to soothe the bizarre sensation as I watch Sean pull the lime that was just in my mouth from his own to reveal the smuggest, most asshole-like grin he’s ever delivered. My knees wobble.
Anger? What anger? I can’t remember what I was actually feeling less than thirty seconds ago.
I need air. I need space. I need a whole new fucking planet.
“What was that?” I ask wiping the corners of my mouth.
He shrugs placing the used lime on the counter. “I decided to be spontaneous.”
I blink. He smiles.
It’s adorable.
“Excuse me, bro, but what the fuck was that?”
Not to be forgotten, Brock the Beard, is definitely not amused by Sean’s spontaneity.
Sean can’t take his eyes off me. It’s almost an easily mistaken glance of an appreciative form of sentiment. I want to bask in it, but I shift to fix the fit of testosterone that might unfold if I don’t handle Brock.
Turning to the bar reignites my senses, the outside world breaks through my fuzzy bubble. Loud guitar riffs fill the air among a crowded room of chatter.
Leaning over, I try to pull myself together, but this spastic grin on my face that’s appeared is an immovable facet at the moment.
“Sorry, lover boy. Sometimes you just have to be quicker in order to get what you want.” I wink, pulling a pen from my back pocket, scribble my number on his napkin and slide it to him. “Prove to me how bad you want it later, yeah? Drinks on me.” I run back to grab his credit card, giving that back to him too.
A screechy, sarcastic laugh erupts from Sean to my right who’s filling three glasses for some customers. His stare lifts to mine before he rolls his eyes, fighting back more laughter.
Brock gives a forgiving toothy grin. “You bet I’ll call you,” he replies before grabbing the napkin and credit card and slithers away.
“Yeah, if I gave you the right number,” I mutter once he’s out of earshot.
Another snorting chortle comes from Sean.
“What? I had to handle it somehow.”
“You’re heartless.”
I sigh, grabbing for a few empty pints sitting on the bar and toss them lightly into the sink, quickly cleaning them before placing them back on the rack. “That’s not new information.”
“You’re also the biggest mood killer.”
I snicker and turn my gaze to Sean’s, whose lips squirm just the same while I’m trying to fight touching my own in disbelief.
Suddenly, I don’t feel crazy. It gives me this sense of self when an element of doubt drifts away. Sean does feel something for me. What that something is, is hard to say, but I’ll take it for now because it at least involved his lips against mine. This fact brings me back to center.
“What mood? We’re at work. I’m supposed to get all gaga for you when you kind of, but not really, decide to kiss me?”
Sean’s hands, which were set in the motion of making a mixed drink, flinch mid-air. His jaw clicks as he turns his head toward me and his hands resume their task.
I think he’s going to say something, or give an explanation, or tell me it was a total misunderstanding. Instead, he grins again.
His smile makes me feel foolish. So foolish, that I smile back.
Sliding the finished drink to another customer across the bar, he can’t stop looking silently smitten at my expense.
The ball, which fell in my court a mere thirty seconds ago, doesn’t seem mine anymore. His silence steers me into a goofy mess.
If he isn’t ready to confirm (or deny) anything then I’ll just have to keep moving.
The band transitions into a new song, one with a digital intro, the beats picking up as a guitar enters the song. I bob my head, lifting it up, focusing on the volume of the music, reading lips to get drink orders, and busying myself. That is, until hips bump into mine for the umpteenth time tonight.
When I glance at Sean, I don’t return his smug look.
“What are we doing?” I ask a little too frantically. My heart, being distraught most of the night, is currently working in overdrive to keep up with what’s going on.
“I don’t know,” he replies without hesitation.
Those three words normally sound like a horrible representation of my life, but hearing it from his lips they seem to have some underlying sound of hope. Regardless, I sigh, “I hate that answer.”
“I know you do.”
“What are we supposed to do now?” I ask, pushing off a beer and a glass of water to the couple that passes me a ten-dollar bill.
“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” he replies.
I wipe my hands on the back of my jeans, shaking my head. “No. No more of that. You either do or do not. Do not
fuck with me Sean Benson. Not now. It’s not fair. So if you’re here just to get some cheap thrill before you leave …” I exhale a long pent up breath before continuing, “then please don’t.”
He leans an elbow on the bar, “Okay, Yoda. Glad it only took a few shots and an almost kiss to get you back to normal.”
All he’s giving me is more nothingness.
“I could choke you right now.”
“What? Why?” he asks befuddled.
Shaking my head I push past him to approach a girl who’s been waving her hand for help for the past two minutes.
“Spare me your nonchalant bullshit, Sean. I have no idea what’s going on, but I deserve more than your passive aggressive approach. Does that actually work on girls?”
I don’t wait for a response. I help the girl, making her a vodka cranberry and taking her cash, trying not to pay attention to the fact that Sean can’t seem to focus on his job.
The sound of glass shattering causes me to look at him. I leap at the sound before bending down to help him with the mess.
With the bar and crowds above us, that bubble appears again as we grab for the large shards of glass.
“You alright?” I ask more out of courtesy than attempting to care.
“No. Not at all.”
“I’d ask you if you want to talk about it, but I don’ think that’s our style toni—“
“I don’t mean to be a dick, ya know? I’m trying to figure this out as much as you are.”
“Um, are you sure? Normally, you’re the nice guy, but tonight I’m wondering how I ever thought that.”
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?” I ask, grabbing the small broom and dustpan from the shelf.
“Deflecting.”
I freeze. “Deflecting?” I squeak for the second time in one night. “Me? I’m deflecting? Men are idiots.” Shoving the broom and dustpan into his arms, I stand and hurry back to the bar muttering exasperated gibberish as I robotically go from one order to the next.
When I get to my feet I can’t tell who’s being more immature. Me or him.
Turning my back on Sean, searching for a quick escape, he seems to have me beat. I hear the clamoring of broken glass tossed into the trash to my left before large hands grab for my hips, spinning me back to face him.
I’ve never been on the receiving end of Sean’s predatory skills, and I think I’m beginning to understand how they’re so effective.
The shots that lingered in my stomach come bouncing into action as they hit my brain. Sean’s hands gently squeeze the flesh at the waistband of my jeans as if to steady me, but it does the opposite. My palms and forearms fall against his chest to save me from my buckling knees.
It’s his returning ear-to-ear smile that knocks some sense back into me. It’s so adorable that I can’t help but find it mocking. It’s too wide. Too glorious. Too knee liquefying.
He leans in just enough to whisper, “Steady, Pagemaster. Bear with me as I try to figure this out, okay? Because I want to figure this—us—out, please know that.”
Us? There’s never been an us before.
Though, I’m distracted by my nickname. It has got to be one of the best things Sean has ever given me. He’s once spent hours in the early AM with me, closing up the bar one night and asked for my life story in suburbia with parents who didn’t know how to deal with my over active imagination or energy. Sean cared enough to listen. When he found out I’d spend summer days reading in the air conditioned library he made the executive decision to name me after the kid in the most underrated kids film of all time, Pagemaster.
When I smile his eyes drop to my mouth causing my blood to turn into churning lava.
I want him to kiss me; it’s a fact. I want to feel what it truly feels like to have his mouth against mine without a barrier. The lime was a tease, and he knows it.
There are two voices battling it out inside me. One tells me to escape Sean’s grip and take a step back out of this situation, but then there’s that other voice. The selfish one. The one that tells me to take advantage of the attention, and that none of it will matter because he’s leaving anyway. This one tells me to push the boundaries and lean in.
I lift my chin to get a better look at his perfect, dopey smile and it’s the nearly translucent blue color of his eyes that strips me to the core.
For the first time in my life, let alone tonight, my instinct is not to ruin this.
I pull in a deep breath through my nose while pursing my lips into a tight smile.
“I’m fine, you idiot,” comes out with my exhale as I pull away, my hands shamelessly dragging down his chest, and it’s when my fingertips make the briefest of contact with his belt buckle that I pull away completely. “Just do me favor and come back to me when you have it figured out, okay?” I mimic. “You don’t think I know your game? I’m not that easy.”
I shake off the sight of the funny glimmer that appears in his eyes as I walk to the opposite side of the bar.
“I like that it’s not that easy,” I hear muttered behind me, and it becomes difficult to cage my rampant smile.
I don’t have any idea what just happened, but I feel tingly all over.
“Getting a little touchy feely over there, hun?”
From the other side of the counter, Lawrence the security guard towers over the crowd of college students with his fifty-year-old ex-football player body, beer gut and all.
“It’s nothing,” I shout, shaking my head at the graying man whose thick caterpillar brows pull together.
“Usually you and Sean are bitching at each other. That almost looked like you enjoyed being close”
I roll my eyes. “We’re always nice to each other—It’s not like that—It’s just.” I grunt knowing I’m not getting myself anywhere and change tact. “Need some water, big guy?”
He chuckles, “Yes please, Paige.” He leans over the bar, smirking to himself under his permanent five o’clock shadow to say, “Don’t mean to stir things. I figured maybe you’d actually be interested in someone, one being the operative word here.”
Bending down to open the small fridge below, I think over his words, then spring back with mocking outrage as I hand over a bottle of water, “I am not interested in lots of guys.”
“Too many guys, really. I figured you’d be smart enough not to destroy Sean like you do the others.”
“Hey-hey! I’m not a man-eater, either.” I jab my finger into my chest in shock and awe.
“Not by choice anyway.” He chuckles. “Judgments aside, I was happily surprised if what I saw was true.”
“Wouldn’t matter anyway, he’s leaving town soon,” tumbles out breathlessly from my lips, and I wish I could take it back. It’s too honest. The tight squint Lawrence gives me makes feel vulnerable, confirming it.
“There’s always a chance. Just gotta make it worth your while.”
“I told you, there’d be no point.”
“All’s fair in love and war …” he hums and gifts me a wink.
And just like that the sound of a snare drum and thrumming bass hits my senses as I watch Lawrence head back to the door to check for I.D.’s
For the first time all night, Sean has put the entire bar’s length between us. He shoots me a timid smile that still manages to make his blue eyes brighter when we make eye contact, and I smile back, glad that he can’t see that I’m as red as the label on the Fireball whiskey.
***
I wave off Marco the busboy as he throws his apron victoriously into the empty bins as he exits. “Laters!” he shouts, walking past Lawrence who’s finishing off a cigar on the patio before making his way home.
“Night!” I shout back to Lawrence who wishes me a good night.
I wipe sweat from my brow, wondering where the last two hours went. I walk to the double doors, locking them, and flip the sign from open to closed.
“How come you get a good bye from Lawrence and he always ignores me?” Sean asks.
&n
bsp; It’s the most words we’ve exchanged since the almost kiss, let alone when his hands touched me, trapping me with his smile.
Shrugging I turn toward the pool table, seeing a few remaining glasses.
“Marco can be so fucking lazy,” I huff.
“Did everyone leave?” Sean asks. I hear his footsteps on the wood floor coming around the bar.
I swivel around seeing him walking straight for me. I fumble for the second glass sitting on the edge of the table.
I nod. “Y-yeah, I think so.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
It’s such a stupid question when he takes a deliberate step forward, closing the distance between us, my ass bumping into the pool table.
“Can we skip the bullshit for five minutes?”
“Is it that easy?”
He looks around, lifting up his arms to emphasize the room’s emptiness before he says, “It is now. There’s no one you have to hide from.”
“You’re losing me.” I shake my head, needing to steady myself, placing the two glasses back onto the pool table so I can white knuckle the edge as I lean back into it. “What are you talking about?”
“Remember I said I wanted to figure us out? In order for this to work and we don’t end up walking away from each other more fucked up than we already are, you need to tell me how you really feel about me.”
I laugh. My left hand comes flying up to cover my mouth. My anxiety when it comes to the situation comes back with a vengeance. “Why does it come down to me? Why am I the one who has to forfeit my dignity to make us functional? Why can’t you be the one to tell me how you feel?” I lose my patience quickly. “You’re torturing me by making me say it. What’s the point? Okay …” I shrug. “You win. You want me say it? I’ll miss you! I’ll miss you like the freaking idiot I am. But it’s whatever. You’re leaving so I guess it’s easier to say it all knowing you’ll be done in a couple d—
