by Sara H Ney
Figures.
It occurs to me that I am being judgmental, and for a nanosecond I am overcome with guilt, so what do I do? Shoot up a quick prayer towards the ceiling of the bar, of course...
Dear lord, please forgive me for being a judgmental bitch and for anything else that comes out of my mouth tonight directed at Matthew Wakefield. Lord, I just can’t seem to help myself...
Amen.
My eyes drift back to the open neckline of Matthew’s shirt. He’s gesturing wildly, beer bottle in one hand and forearm flexing on the other, and as he talks the dark plaid flannel shirt with its open top few buttons strains from the brawny pectoral muscles across the front - clearly an open invitation for my perusal.
Hey, I might think the guy is complete douche, but I am human.
And female.
I sigh and continue on my way, although it’s impossible to make any progress without throwing an elbow here or there just so I can get through to the bar. Embarrassed that I caught myself mentally undressing my nemesis, I purposefully lock eyes with my best friend Abby at the bar. Standing next to her is Molly, and Molly’s best friend Jenna, who all wave to me from their position across the room.
They’ve actually managed to get seats. Nice.
Rising on her tippy toes, Jenna gestures wildly and mouths ‘Hurry up!’
Bright disco ball earrings dangle from her dainty lobes, sparkling wildly under the dim lights and causing me to grin. Only Jenna could wear disco ball earrings out in public and pull it off without everyone thinking she’s crazy - on the contrary: everyone thinks she’s cool.
Well. Except for Weston, who is a tad weirded out by her because she used to have a huge crush on him... Not to mention, she used to stalk him a little when they were in high school. It wasn’t like ‘Fatal Attraction’ and no rabbits were boiled, but still - guys hate stalking in any capacity; so do yourself a favor and never do it...
Molly is leaning across the counter, balancing herself on the bottom rim of a stool like a total champ, twenty dollar bill extended over the bar top. No, actually, she is tapping the bill impatiently, like she’s at the bar every day and has the system down pat.
Glancing around, she yells “This place sucks when it’s so crowded.”
What she means is, it’s packed because the Badger Hockey team had a home game this week, and they’re here celebrating their recent win against Cleveland... and where there are bad boys of Badger hockey, the crowds - and girls - will most definitely follow.
I roll my eyes and hand her my empty glass. “Can you get me a water instead? My head is killing me.”
She nods and sticks her arm back out to signal the bartender. “This song sure isn’t helping.” One Direction has just come over the sound system, blasting out their hit from last year ‘Best Song Ever.’
“What. You don’t like boy bands?” I tease.
“Not this one! What are we, twelve?”
Jenna, who has been Molly’s best friend since grade school, makes a face of disbelief and her eye brows shoot up to her forehead. “Don’t you dare lie Molly Wakefield! I know you have this CD because I’ve seen it on your desk. You totally think this is the Best Song Everrrrrrr!” Jenna shouts this last part loudly, singing along and throwing her arms in the air like she’s at a rock concert, while I do a twirly little hip-hop dance move on my toes to the beat. This of course immediately sends me toppling over a little bit.
I have no rhythm.
Anyone watching us would think we were drunk.
My friend Abby groans loudly, covering her face with the palm of her hand. “Oh my god you guys, please stop” (She’s way more serious than the rest of us).
“You guys are idiots,” Molly laughs as she smacks me in the shoulder and sticks out her tongue.
Jenna shrugs in agreement. “Yeah, but you love us...”
“So, I don’t see Wes... What’s he up to?” Abby kindly asks.
“He busted his lip open during the game.” The bartender sets down their drinks, and my water. Grabbing her glass off the bar, Molly turns and takes a dainty sip out of the tiny red straw. “Actually, a left wing for the Buckeyes did it for him when they got into a brawl second quarter. Punched him right in the face with his glove after Weston checked him into the boards. The guy didn’t even bother to take the damn glove off.” She makes a face, wrinkling her brow. “He’s going to have a huge scab on his lip. Ugh. No offense to Weston cause I love him and all, but it’s so so gross.”
Now I’m making a face. “Uh, yeah. Sucks to be you.”
“Tell me about it.” Molly turns to slowly scan the crowd. Her eyes lock on a group of guys across the bar and get real wide before she groans, turning back to us, embarrassed, “Oh geez, would you look at my brother? What the hell does he think he’s doing?” She takes another sip of her Cosmo and squints in Matthew’s direction. “Oh my gawd, what a tool...”
My eyes dart over to the other side of the bar. Indeed, Matthew Wakefield is acting like a first class dipshit, banging his hands on his chest like a gorilla while one of the Badger players pour a beer into his big, fat open mouth. The beer of course isn’t making it down his throat, or even in his mouth - but rather, it is running down the front of his flannel shirt in steady stream of wet, yellow foam.
Head tipped back, Matthew’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and his gloriously un-kept hair falls into his eyes. I can’t help admiring the sexy unshaven five o’clock shadow straining over the cords of his thick neck, as it disappears into the dark recesses of his flannel.
I avert my eyes and snort. “Maybe you should take a picture of the dumbass and post it on Instagram.”
Molly looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “No way! Hello! My mom is one of my followers and would be so pissed at us both.”
Confused, I ask, “Why would she be pissed at you?”
Molly levels me with a stare. I rack my brain for a nanosecond, and luckily it only takes me that long to catch up. Realization dawns on me.
Ding, ding, ding - we have a winner.
Molly isn’t 21 yet (unlike myself, who turned a magnificent twenty-two last May) and can’t post drinking pictures on any social media. Her parents would K-I-L-L her.
Slowly. Surely.
But for me, twenty-three is right around the corner. Months away, in fact (hallelujah)!
“Ahhhh...” I draw the words out. Well, more like I draw them out in a really loud yell so she can hear me over the music. “Right. Gotch’ya!”
At that exact same moment, chanting interrupts what she’s about to say, and to Molly’s horror, her brute of a brother is loudly shouting - Wait. No. Shouting isn’t the right adjective... it’s more of a chant.
Yup.
The moron is definitely chanting his sisters name in a crowded bar.
“Seriously Matthew, what the F!?” Molly shrieks. “Could you not?”
Matthew, now having her attention, continues shouting, “Moll-E, Moll-E! Molly, come here! Molly!”
Unceremoniously, Molly yanks my arm and hauls me behind her through the crowd, pushing her way through like a prize fighter, towards her brother as he begins belting out the words to Parking Lot Party (Lee Brice in case you didn’t know), which isn’t even the song blasting out of the sound system.
Nope. Not the song at all, but he’s singing it anyways.
And he’s not the only one; half the team is singing - maybe not to Lee Brice - but in one seemingly messed up redneck chorus. In the middle of all the chaos, unsurprisingly, is a group of skanky, half-dressed puck bunnies that are grinding on several happily drunk members of the team.
To a country song.
The one that’s actually playing; a country song about saving horses and riding cowboys.
Seriously.
My lip curls in disgust as I’m forcibly dragged towards them. Completely against my will, I might add.
It’s not really the small crowd of skanks I object being pulled towards, it’s...
Okay, I�
��m lying.
It’s the skanks.
**Matthew**
I have a confession to make: I’m not really drunk.
Not one bit.
Another confession: I’m glad my sister is dragging that angry roommate behind her, and not her best friend “Hockey Stalker Jenna” as I like to call her. I’ve heard horror stories about her from Weston, and believe me, I’d rather not voluntarily put myself in the path of a fan girl. Regardless, all night, Jenna has been watching me with beady, calculating eyes. She’s wearing some freaky ass disco ball earrings - even from here as she watches us, I can tell she’s just barely occupied enough with the other girl not to follow Molly.
Barely.
She wants to come over, but doesn’t.
I stumble a few paces towards my sister, putting on a small show. It’s easy to act drunk with a soaking wet shirt full of beer and loud music blasting all around you, and the drunk act is actually a good excuse to get a few words in with my sister without having to walk over to her.
She can’t resist stomping over to discipline me.
Truth is, we don’t get to see each other all that often, and... I miss the little shit, even if she is a pain in my ass most of the time.
But she’s stubborn, and independent, and I know that unless I force her to come over, she would remain on her side of the bar all night, judging.
Molly and Cecelia get jostled a bit along the way, and I keep a close eye on the crowd as they make their way through it, shrewdly prepared to step up in case anyone touches either of them. I know how guys are, and both my sister and her roommate are looking pretty damn cute tonight.
Shit. Was I seriously just thinking that?
Thank god I didn’t say it out loud...
Cecelia follows behind, but not willingly, if the frown on her face is any indication. Man, does this chick ever smile?
Prude.
I take in her plain white V-neck shirt and faded denim jeans, looking her up and down - and even though Cecelia is obviously not here to hook up with or impress anyone of the male persuasion, I can’t help but wonder why she didn’t make more of an effort.
Isn’t it, like... girl DNA to truss themselves up when they go out?
Though, to be honest, her stark white shirt is just tight enough, and just sheer enough that as she stalks over, I can make out the outline of a white bra and... an ample swell of breasts.
Which are kind of awesome.
She isn’t wearing much make-up, and her long wavy hair is a loose, tangled, sexy mess.
Molly breaks my visual of her roomie by rudely marching up and getting right in my face. Like a drill sergeant. “What do you want, you imbicile?”
“I forgot.” I resist the urge to laugh out loud when Cecelia rolls her eyes and sighs loudly, and of course my attention shifts immediately to her. “Hey Cecilia, isn’t that the exact same outfit you were wearing when you accosted me in Molly’s apartment?”
Beside me, I get a swift nudge in the ribs from my sister. Jeez, what is it with the elbowing? At this rate, I’m going to have three bruised ribs...
“That was not a gentlemanly thing to point out, Matt.” Molly says with a sneer, while Cecelia rolls her eyes (for the second time in less than sixty seconds, I might add) and crosses her arms resentfully - a move that pushes her breasts up even higher into the neckline of her tee.
I get a great shot of cleavage in the V.
Nice, very nice.
Instead of staring at Cecelia’s boobs like I’m instantly wired to do, I shrug at them both. “Merely making an observation. I calls it like I sees it.” I take a casual sip of beer and smirk.
I get another jab in the opposite rib. This elbow belongs to Neve Vanderhalt, my good buddy and recent graduate who is also a fellow coaching staffer for the Badgers. His smile spreads wide and his dark blue eyes are pinned directly on to my sister’s roommate with unconcealed interest.
Cecelia returns his interest with a perusal of her own
Damn him for being so good looking - makes me want to knock a gap in his teeth.
“Hey Wakefield, wanna introduce me to your friend?”
“Nope, not really.”
Cecelia plants her hands on her narrow hips before tossing her hair indignantly. “Hi. Just to be clear, Matthew and I are not friends. Consider us the anti-friends.” She sticks her hand out for a shake. “My name is CeCe - Molly’s older, wiser, roommate.”
Cecelia sends a flirty wink - actually fucking winks - at Neve and smiles. As their hands make contact for the handshake, her long willowy arm dissects me across the middle of my stomach just as her palm connects with Neve’s.
The contact from her elbow sets my nerves tingling, and something quivers in my nether region - even though I’m pretty sure she was trying to punch me in the gut, not turn me on.
Neve perks up at the news that Cecelia and I are not in any way involved, and gives her a megawatt grin full of perfectly white teeth. He is all dark, brooding, and suave: everything that I’m not.
Neve clears his throat and says, “At the risk of sounding corny, do you come here often?”
“That doesn’t sound corny, it sounds idiotic.” I complain and cross my arms, hoping it draws attention to my biceps. I glance down at them and flex a few times for good measure.
Cecelia doesn’t notice.
“Well, you would certainly know idiotic,” she briefly glances at me, countering with a raised eyebrow and pursing her glossy lips before glancing away.
I ‘pfft’ indignantly. “Oh, real classy.”
Now she’s got her eyes narrowed and is poking me in the chest with her fingernail. “Excuse me? I’m wayyy classier than those ‘groupies’ (she puts her fingers up and does air quotes when she says this) you have hanging over you all the time, waiting for your sloppy seconds. It’s disgusting. No. Thank. You.”
“Those ‘groupies’ (great, now I’m using air quotes) as you call them, are called Puck Bunnies - and following me around is a respectable hobby. They boost my morale. Maybe you could learn a thing or two if you acted more like them. Like how to take a guy deep -”
Neve interrupts before I can finish my sentence. “That is enough Wakefield. Christ, what is wrong with you, man? Could you shut up for five minutes so I can talk to the pretty lady.”
“Yeah she’s pretty, but then she opens her fucking mouth.”
“Matthew don’t be an ass,” Molly finally chimes in, yelling over the noise.
“Yeah asshole, don’t be an ass.” This from Cecelia. The corners of my mouth unwillingly tip up into a smile at her sass.
Call me crazy, but I kind of like it.
And even though she’s already holding a glass in her hand, Neve ignores everyone and pushes through the banter to ask her, “Cece, can I buy you a drink?”
Cecelia raises her chin a notch, cocks her eyebrow and shoves her full drink into my one empty hand, the clear liquid (and a few ice cubes) spilling onto my hand from the force. “Neve, I would love that.”
I have no choice but to take it.
Neve seizes the opportunity and takes her arm, leading her away, and shoving a path through the crowded bar, an easy task given his impressive 6’1 height and imposing stature. No one is getting in his way, I begrudgingly admit, and watch as he places his large calloused hand on the small of Cecelia’s lower back to guide her through the crowd.
My lip curls in frustration.
I only tear my eyes away when Molly’s voice cuts in. “You know what Matthew,” she starts in on me with a huff. “If you weren’t such a dick head, you might have a shot at a relationship with a nice girl like CeCe. But noooo, you -”
“- Jeez, would you shut up for a damn minute,” I demand, putting a finger up to silence her before shifting my gaze back to watching Cecelia from across the bar. Pulling the cell out of my back pocket, I unlock the screen.
Molly throws her hands up in frustration. “See, this is your whole freaking problem...” she continues ranting, but
I tune her out. She’s going on-and-on about me always being on my phone, how I’m such a jerk, and blah, blah, blah, who cares.
You didn’t seriously expect me to listen, did you?
As if.
Ignoring my sister, I’m unable to resist the temptation across the bar - so, I click open my email (since I don’t have her cell number), hit COMPOSE and tap out a quick message before hitting SEND.
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 15, 2014 at 11:27:18 PM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: Try SMILING
Just a suggestion.
MSW
Sent from my iPhone
I look back up at my little sister, who is staring at me with a curled lip.
“Okay. Now you can go back to the part in your speech about Cecelia being nice. I need a good laugh,” I say, tapping my forefinger impatiently on my cheap plastic cell phone case, holding my cell in one palm, double fisting a beer in the other.
I wait and watch.
Impatient, I feel like crushing the phone in my hand, but perk up considerably when I finally see Cecelia bend her head and pull out her own phone, and watch as she squints at the small screen in concentration, then frowning.
I turn away with a smirk and lift the beer to my mouth, hiding a laugh in the plastic cup, foam ticking my upper lip as I take a long drag.
Ahhh, victory tastes good. So cold and refreshing.
Covertly, I watch her again. Even from here I can see her nostrils flaring, and she sharply whips her head up to meet my gaze, coolly acknowledging me with narrowed eyes before lowering her head again.
Several seconds later, my phone chimes.
TO: Matthew Wakefield
DATE: September 15, 2014 at 11:30:23 PM CST
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: You’re a dick
Get a life. - C
Sent from my Android Smartphone
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 15, 2014 at 11:33:14 PM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: I AM a dick.
