by Sj Hooks
“Oh,” he said, after he’d finished his imaginary groping. “They have to be nice and perky. But that’s pretty much a given with a twenty-one-year-old, you lucky dog.”
They were perky, I couldn’t deny that. I ran faster.
“So, are you going to make a move on her?” Matt continued, despite my running at top speed and the fact that I hadn’t answered his asinine breast inquiries. He’d stepped onto the treadmill next to mine, but was barely strolling.
“Of course not,” I panted.
“Why not? The way you describe what she does in your class, it sounds like she’s into you.”
She is not into me. She’s…I don't know what she is.
I kept running until it felt as if my heart was about to burst out of my chest and sweat was pouring off me. I stopped the treadmill and downed my water while Matt continued to watch me from the machine next to mine with a stupid grin on his face.
“What?” I snapped.
“Easy, bro, don’t give yourself an aneurysm,” he said and stopped his slow pace. "I’m just saying that if this girl can get you that worked up, there might be something there.”
“There’s nothing there,” I panted. “She’s stupid and annoying and frankly, I can’t wait for the semester to be over so I don’t have to look at her twice a week. And, yes, her breasts are very perky and probably just the right size, but that doesn’t change the fact that she looks like an extra from a Tim Burton movie and seems hell-bent on annoying the crap out of me!”
I stormed off and heard him laughing as he followed me to the weight room. I lay down on the bench press, hoping that Matt would keep his mouth shut while he spotted me. Of course, I was out of luck in that department.
“Sooo, when your class is over, it wouldn’t be illegal for you to date her, would it?”
I groaned with the exertion. “Since I have no interest in dating her, it’s a moot point. Besides, I’m much too old for her, and like I’ve already said, she’s not my type.”
“You like brunettes,” he countered.
“Yes, but I don’t like ghoul makeup, torn pantyhose, and especially not tattoos. Why are we still talking about this?”
“Because you’ve mentioned her every time I’ve seen you in the past two months,” he said.
I haven’t talked about her that much, have I?
“You don’t even realize that you’ve done that, do you?”
“It couldn’t have been that much,” I said reluctantly as we switched places and Matt added more weight for his set.
“Are you kidding me? I know what she's worn and how she’s done her hair for every single one of your classes. Not to mention all her winking and smiling at you.”
“You're exaggerating.” I dismissed him. “What was she wearing on Friday?”
“Uh, a black-and-white checkered skirt and a T-shirt with a logo. Sounds like The Ramones, from the way you described it,” he said without hesitation.
That's absolutely right. God, this is so messed up.
I didn’t say anything. What could I say?
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Just shut up or I’m going to drop this on you,” I muttered, handing him the bar.
He did his set while I stood there feeling perplexed. I hadn’t realized that I’d been complaining so much about Ms. Wilde. After we finished our sets, I didn’t feel like doing any more and we hit the showers.
“All kidding aside, Stephen, why haven’t you dated anyone in forever?” he asked me as we were dressing.
“I don’t know,” I lied. “I haven’t met anyone who held my interest.”
“Except for the girl you haven’t been able to shut up about for the past two months,” he interjected.
“Plus, I’m not very good at talking to women,” I added, ignoring his comment.
“Ain’t that the truth.”
I glanced at my stepbrother and he gave me a smile.
“I’m just kidding, Stevie. You’re not as bad as you think.”
Except I was. While I didn’t like to admit it, I couldn’t deny the facts. My dating life was practically nonexistent, and it always had been. At university, I was always studying, and since I didn’t participate in parties and such, I never spent much time with women. I had watched my peers socialize, and while I had wanted to join in, my shyness kept me back. I had nurtured the hope that the right woman would somehow just come along some day. Someone nice, whom I could easily talk to without feeling intimidated. Someone who would accept me, flaws and all.
Now I was thirty-three, and so far, it hadn't happened. Maybe it never would. The few friends I had made in college and grad school were all in long-term relationships, most of them married with kids. I was the only one still on my own, and I was starting to worry I would always be alone.
“You want me to set you up?” Matt asked. “I know a lot of women who would love to go on a date with you.”
“Really?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“OK, so maybe not a lot. But I’m pretty sure I could wrestle one up for you. Someone nice and boring, just like you,” he said, as if that were a compliment.
“Do you really think I’m boring?”
“Yes,” he answered immediately.
“Wow, thanks for not sugar-coating it, Matt.”
“I'm sorry, Stevie, but just look at your life, man. You spend every night at home with your nose in a book, you haven’t gone on a date since JT brought sexy back, and you dress like a grandpa.”
Who’s JT? What’s sexy back? A grandpa?
I looked at my clothes and compared them to Matt’s. I was wearing khaki pants with a belt, a blue button-down shirt, a brown corduroy blazer, black leather shoes with laces, and, of course, my bowtie and glasses. My stepbrother was wearing some odd-looking sneakers, dark denim jeans, a plain white T-shirt and a leather jacket. Even I could acknowledge that there were differences, but I didn’t think that my clothes were that bad.
“Do I really dress like a grandpa?” I asked.
“A little,” Matt said. “Like your pants. What’s up with them?”
“Um, what’s wrong with them?”
“There’s nothing exactly wrong with them,” he said. “You just wear them a little too high and the belt is just…geriatric-looking. Why don’t you ever wear jeans?”
“I don’t know if I’d be comfortable wearing something so snug,” I admitted.
Matt shook his head in open disapproval. “What’s the point of working out three times a week if no one can see it?” he asked, flexing his bicep.
“Staying healthy. Regular exercise is the best way of maintaining a healthy cardiovascular system. You know my family history.”
Matt put his hand on my shoulder, giving me a little shake.
“Sorry, man, I know. But you’ve been to the doctor recently, right? Everything’s fine.”
Rubbing my hand across my chest, I nodded.
“You’re healthy as a horse,” he continued. “You can worry when you’re older. Right now, your main focus should be getting some p—”
“Please don't say it!” I interrupted, holding up my hand.
“—proper lady to go out with you,” he guffawed.
Oh, please. I know what he was going to say.
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”
“Think about the jeans, though?”
“I’m sure you’ll remind me if I forget,” I muttered.
He patted my shoulder sympathetically.
“The next time Mom offers to take you clothes shopping, just say no.”
"Fine.”
“Look, why don't you come with me to the bar and have a beer. We can grab some dinner on the way,” he suggested.
I hesitated.
“It’s Opening Day for the Giants, and it’s sure to bring some women to the bar. That’s our baseball team, by the way.”
“I know,” I said, rolling my eyes, although I probably wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t been born and raised he
re in San Francisco.
I considered turning him down. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy spending time with Matt, because I did. It was his bar, or any bar for that matter, that had me hesitating. I wasn’t good in social situations. Still, I knew it would mean a lot to him if I came along.
“All right,” I agreed. “But just for one beer, OK?”
Matt’s face lit up.
“Really? Awesome! Do you want to stop by your place for a change of clothes?”
“No.”
“OK, just…err, lose the jacket, at least, and untuck your shirt.”
I sighed and did what he told me.
“The bowtie?”
“No. Anything else?" I asked sarcastically.
“Yeah, don’t do that weird hair part on the side. It makes you look like you have a combover,” he said, ruffling my unruly hair.
* * *
I was already regretting my decision when we pulled up at Matt’s bar later that night and I saw how many cars were parked outside. The place was packed and I could feel myself getting nervous. We stepped inside and Matt was greeted enthusiastically from all corners. Apparently everyone in the bar knew who he was. I didn’t care for attention, unless it was in a setting I could control, like my classroom.
“Come on, bro. I have my own table,” Matt said, ushering me over to what seemed like the best seats in the house. They had a great view overlooking the whole bar, in direct view of the large TV on the wall.
“I'll get you a beer,” he said. “Any preference?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t tell one beer from the other to save my life. Looking around the place, I was surprised to see that there were a lot of women here, as he had promised. I knew that Matt dated a lot of different girls but none exclusively, and it seemed he liked it that way. I saw him embrace several women on his way back to where I was sitting, and I had to admit that I felt a little jealous of him. My stepbrother was well-liked by everyone and had a way with the opposite sex that I had never possessed.
“Here you go,” he said, handing me a bottle. “See anything you like?”
He motioned around the crowded bar. I shrugged and started picking at the label, wondering how long I’d have to stay to fulfill my obligation to Matt.
“What about her?” he asked, nodding in the direction of a woman with very large breasts and a very short skirt.
Uh, no.
“Just kidding,” he said with a grin. “I know her, and she’s definitely not boring—if you know what I mean.”
“I hope you used protection,” I muttered. “You can’t be too careful.”
Matt gave me a pointed look.
“Yes, Stephen, sometimes you can be too careful.”
I didn’t ask him what he meant. A rock song came on and I heard loud cheering in the back of the place. Both Matt and I turned in our seats to see what was going on, and I almost fell off my chair at what I saw. Ms. Wilde was dancing on a table with two other girls, and they were surrounded by a huge group of men, who were all looking up at them and catcalling.
Tonight, she was wearing a dress I hadn’t seen before: a red strapless contraption that I had no idea how it was being held up and knee-high leather boots. Her hair was in a high ponytail, and she wore red lipstick and the same black smudgy stuff around her eyes as she had in class.
“Holy shit, that redhead is hot!” Matt exclaimed next to me, letting out a low whistle. He was referring to Ms. Wilde’s friend, a tall, curvy girl with long, red hair. The third girl was short with dark skin and jet-black hair. The three had captured the attention of every man in the place with their dance routine on the table. I had the sudden urge to leave the bar before she noticed me. I didn’t want to see her—although I had to admit that she looked a lot better tonight than she usually did in class.
My jaw slackened when the three women started doing shots off each other, which made the crowd of men go wild.
“Err, are they allowed to do that?” I asked Matt.
“Are you kidding me?” he asked with his eyes fixed on the redhead. “Those men are going to come back here every night for a month, hoping for a repeat performance. I should put those girls on my payroll. I haven’t seen them in here before. I wonder who they are.”
“That’s Ms. Wilde,” I said, and instantly regretted it.
“The one in the red dress?” he asked incredulously. “Are you serious?”
I nodded.
“She’s the annoying one who isn’t your type? You are so full of shit, bro! You need to tap that, and then introduce me to her friend.”
I didn’t feel the need to “tap” anything and got up to leave.
“Where are you going? The game hasn’t even started yet,” he complained, pulling me back into my seat. “One beer, Stephen, you promised.”
“Fine,” I agreed, ducking my head. “I’ll finish the one I have and then I’m going home. I have things to attend to.”
“You can jack off later.” He laughed. “Your dear Ms. Wilde is providing you with a great image,” he added, motioning in her direction.
I looked over to where Ms. Wilde was busy licking salt off the redhead’s neck before she downed a shot and sucked on the lemon wedge that the other girl held between her lips. I felt a stirring in my nether regions and looked away, feeling disgusted with myself.
She’s ten years younger than you and, more important, your student. Plus, she annoys you like crazy, remember?
I turned my attention to the screen and, thankfully, the noise from the back died down when the game came on. After finishing my beer I told Matt that I was leaving, but made plans with him to have lunch the following day. I looked around for Ms. Wilde but it seemed that she and her friends must have left when the game started. As I walked outside, I drew a deep breath, thankful that the night was over.
“Son of a bitch!”
What the—
I looked in the direction of the voice, and who else could it be but Ms. Wilde, rifling through her purse, cursing loudly. She pulled out a cigarette, lit up, and inhaled deeply.
“Fucking hell,” she groaned, closing her eyes as she exhaled the smoke into the night air.
She has a foul mouth and she's a smoker. Wonderful. The “things I don't like about Ms. Wilde” list keeps getting longer and longer. Before the semester is through, it’ll look like Kerouac’s On the Road scroll.
For a second I thought I might be able to slip past her undetected, but she opened her eyes again and broke into a smile when she saw me.
“Stephen,” she said, flashing me her lopsided grin. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s Professor Worthington,” I said automatically.
“We’re not in school now,” she countered, taking a drag.
I couldn’t stop myself from staring at her insanely red lips as they wrapped around the cigarette. I decided not to say anything else about my name.
"It's my brother's bar. I mean, my stepbrother.”
“Well, what is he?” she asked, clearly amused. “Your brother or your stepbrother?”
“I don’t know.” Our parents had been married for almost twenty years and I could hardly remember a time before Matt. When was it appropriate to leave out the “step” part?
“Huh.”
This conversation was going nowhere.
"I never pegged you for the sports type," she said, looking me up and down while taking another drag.
"I'm not, and I'm leaving. Good night, Ms. Wilde," I said curtly, and started walking toward my car.
"Wait. I don't have enough money for a cab and my friends already left in the other direction. Can I have a ride?"
I didn't want her in my car. It wouldn’t be appropriate at all.
"Hey, never mind," she said before I could answer. "I'll just see you in class on Friday."
When I turned around, she was already walking away.
Is she going to walk home? Alone? Wearing that dress?
"Ms. Wilde," I called after her. She
turned and looked curiously at me. "Come on," I said, motioning her over to my car. She smiled brightly and walked back toward me. I couldn't help but notice the way her hips moved and the smallness of her waist. Her ponytail swayed from side to side with each step she took, and I decided that I preferred this hairstyle to the others she had worn to class. She got in the car and I immediately noticed that she was still smoking.
"Would you mind not doing that in my car?" I asked, pointing to her cigarette.
She threw it out the door and put on her seatbelt. Rifling through her bag, she fished out a pack of mints, popping one into her mouth.
"Where do you live?" I asked as we pulled out of the parking lot.
She gave me the address in a neighborhood where I knew there was a lot of off-campus housing.
"So, Stephen," she said, turning to me. "Do you do this sort of thing a lot?"
"What sort of thing?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the road.
"Rescuing damsels in distress," she joked. "No, hanging out in bars on a school night."
"Technically, it's not a school night for me, and no, I don't do it a lot. It wasn't really my scene back there."
"What is your scene, then?"
I shrugged. Most nights I spent at home with a cup of tea and a book. Sometimes I would go see a movie if anything good was playing, or go to my parents' for dinner. That was pretty much the extent of my social life, except for the few times that Matt dragged me out with him. Naturally, I didn't tell any of that to Ms. Wilde and kept driving. I was anxious to get her home as soon as possible and be rid of her. I didn’t want her to know my private life. In class, I knew what to do, what to say. I always had a good answer to the questions I was asked. I was the Professor: respected and even feared at times. Here, in my car, outside the classroom, I felt like the class nerd, roped into giving a ride to the prettiest girl in school even though she’d never give him the time of day.
I glanced in her direction. She really was pretty tonight. The pale skin on her bare arms looked so soft and smooth, and the dress clung to her, showing off her figure.
"Why didn't you bring a jacket?" I asked with a frown, returning my attention to the road.
"I forgot," she said. "That was a fun class today, huh?"