I never called James either. I sat the card on the bar and never picked it up again or gave it another thought. Old James was sweet, but he was an older man. I knew how vulnerable I was, and I knew an older man wasn’t what I wanted. James was very distinguished looking, quite accomplished in his field, very respected and respectful. I had no clue if he had a family back in Colorado or if he didn’t. That never came up in conversation. But he was old enough to have been married for years. I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression that I was interested in him. I didn’t mind being friendly, but being intimate was not what I wanted. He was very nice, had all the makings of a man I would one day want my husband to be, and as vulnerable as I was, I knew I wouldn’t have been able to ward off his advances. I was lonely. I missed the feel of a man. Not just any man, a good man. He was a good man, this I could tell. His body was a well-built machine. I could tell his years of experience could teach me a thing or to. And that, I wouldn’t have been able to deny. I loved a man in control when it came to seducing. It was a big turn on for me. And for a man to know just how to please you was like poison to me. I wasn’t drinking the poison of James tonight. I was playing it safe.
Unfortunately, I get attached to anyone I am intimate with. I’m like a puppy dog in that aspect. You show me some love and I’m forever yours baby! So no, ignoring his card on my bar was the best thing I had done in a long while. “Great control Sadie,” I sang to myself and treated myself to some very well deserved late night ice cream; vanilla not chocolate. I don’t think I’ll ever eat chocolate ice cream again, just saying.
Chapter Six
Drink Until He’s Ugly
The following morning I opened up the website and deleted all the emails from the creep Mike. I didn’t want to see his face glaring at me reminding me of that pig. I blocked him too just in case he found it in his heart to apologize for leaving me on the side of the highway. What kind of guy does that? A crazy one! But I guess it was better than spending the evening listening to his ranting about how nuts I was to not want to roast a pig in my backyard. Now, I’m a country girl, grew up in the good ole west, and we never smoked a pig in the ground. Not to say it hadn’t been done by any of my kinfolk, but not while I was around.
Oh, there were other things I knew they had done, like wring chickens necks, then pluck and cook them; Frog gig frogs, then cut and fry them; but the pigs and the cows were sent off to slaughter arriving back at the house with the meat wrapped in white wax paper. I never watched them die nor seen one of them dead hanging by its hoofs, lying in a bathtub smiling at me. I raised pigs. It would have been hard for me to have done this to them. It was hard enough knowing they ended up on our table for breakfast.
You could say I’m borderline vegetarian again. The cruelty of killing animals to eat really bothers me. But on the other hand, I love meat. I know. I’m a hypocrite. I admit it. When I went five years without meat, the first thing I craved when I came off that diet was a roast beef sandwich. Don’t ask me why. That still puzzles me today. But I still have a hard time eating chicken off the bone, or preparing a thanksgiving turkey. I don’t like the part where I have to tie up its little legs. It looks so alive! And the smell of raw meat I feel I can never get off my hands when I’ve been cooking. And a rare steak, oh don’t get me started. When the blood seeps and mixes with your mashed potatoes turning them pink on your plate, I want to throw up.
Thinking about all this meat made me remember I had some left over bacon still in the fridge. As a child my favorite breakfast was a bacon sandwich that my Grandpa used to make me. He always knew just how crisp the bacon should be. I would eat it dry between two slices of toasted bread, squished flat and crunchy.
It was Saturday night, I had nothing, so I sent out a mass text to my girlfriends begging for a GNO. I know it was last minute, but I really needed to get out of my apartment and have a drink. A few of the girls were just like me, lonely and wanting a little company. They too had high hopes of meeting a decent guy someday. The place we all agreed to meet was not the ideal place to find anything decent, but there was a cute cowboy in town from Nashville singing tonight. Country music was rarely played in bars in Huntsville so of course we had to go check him out.
The bar is a strange one. It has a weird mix of people, always, some older than us, very few young ones, and swingers. Yes, I said swingers. You see, there’s a protocol for this action. And this is the place they meet. The rules are you sit on the front right side of the stage area either alone or with your significant other and during the course of the evening you mingle, mix partners, and dance. It’s the dancing that creeps me out. Most of the women are really skanky with tight fitting dresses. One in particular moons the crowd with her coochie-coochie every time she dances. I was already fussing when I hit the door about her and her cooch, praying she decided not to come out tonight. I wasn’t sure I could take it. I mean, who does that? Of course the girls didn’t care who arrived on the dance floor. I knew once that cowboy hottie started belting out something about boot scootin’ they would be out there dancing.
I picked my seat at the table then excused myself to the bar to grab a drink. I had no patience to wait for the waitress to come around.
“Mic Ultra please with a lime.” The bartender wasted no time grabbing my card to open a tab, “Oh and a diet coke and rum.” I ordered that for a friend. Had almost forgotten to get her a drink while I was there. Before the bartender could slide me my drinks, a voice whispered to me, “Whatcha drinking?”
“What?” I turned around fast and my eyes met a broad chest. I followed that chest upward till I reached two big brown eyes and a face that resembled a famous actor that always made me have hot flashes. His head was hidden under the rim of a black Stetson cowboy hat, the ones that make me drool for no reason at all. I quickly turned back around ignoring the fine cowboy. He looked so out of place in here. I peeked down to look at his feet. Yup, boots, just like I thought. Geez. I was feeling my Oklahoma roots rising from my toes. How long had it been since I was this close to a cowboy? Did it matter? Did I mention he was talking to me? He was, right? I looked around just to see if I was right. Yup, I was.
“Where’s your blonde chick that’s usually tied to your hip?
“Somewhere near Nashville wrestling cattle, I suppose.” He smiled. “Let me get that along with my shot.”
“No thank you, I got it.”
“No, really,” he motioned to the bartender ordering a shot of tequila, “I got it. Put these on my tab please.” He motioned to her. “Damn you’re beautiful! You from here?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah. But I can tell you’re sure not.”
“I’m not, just in town for the night. This place is a little crazy don’t you think?”
I laughed realizing he had no clue just how nuts this place really was. “Yes, yes it is. Where ya from, Cowboy?”
“South Dakota.” He answered happily. I was agreeing to talk to him now, what could it hurt. He wasn’t going away and he had my undivided attention with that word beautiful.
The bartender, confused on who was paying now, asked again if the drinks were all together, “No, ma’am, I’ve got mine.” I smiled as if I was still in charge.
“You’re not going to let me buy you a drink?”
I looked over my right shoulder, yup, his chest was still there. I looked up finding his eyes once again, this time they were smiling. They were good, real good at wooing. I found myself being wooed and ooh was it nice. I turned around quickly grabbing my drinks saying, “Thank you, but no thank you. I’ve got them, Cowboy.”
She finally nodded in agreement and charged him only for his drink, putting mine on my tab.
“Well, where do you go to eat a good breakfast around here?”
“Actually, there’s a place not too far from here with tasty mimosa’s, and they have a make your own Bloody Mary bar.”
“How do you get there?” he asked.
“Well…you take University to…
” and I couldn’t think of the street to tell him to turn on that would land him directly to that area. Then I thought about re-routing him down I-565 to Clinton Street, but then I’d have to explain the parkway, wasn’t sure he’d get all that.
“You know what would be better? If you’d just show me.”
Wow, he wasn’t wasting time. “Haha…I’m sure, but I’m here with my friends to listen to some cowboy sing from Nashville. And it’s a girl’s night out, so no, sorry, can’t do that.”
“Aww come on…”
“Sorry.” With the drinks in my hand, I turned away from him scolding myself for a perfect opportunity to get to know him a little better. I had started off the evening really convincing myself I needed to meet someone tonight, and then when the moment came, I was a chicken shit. I never meet cowboys in Huntsville. They are crawling all over back home in Oklahoma, but never here. It had been a long time since I’d been under the rim of a black felt Stetson hat too. It’s a whole ’nother world under there. We won’t talk about the boots. And I’ll spare you the belt buckle and good ass jeans that I was having issues with. Drooling issues that is.
I felt him watch me return to my seat. Fortunately from where he stood, he had a straight view of me. Every time I turned to speak to my girlfriends, right over their heads was his hat head bopping up to stare at me, smiling, motioning for me to join him. Every time I caught his eyes, I quickly turned away. What was I thinking? I know right? He looked good. Too good to be true, that was the problem. I watched as he got up to walk across the dance floor, up the stairs of the stage and onto the stage landing himself right behind the mike. Oh my! I grabbed the flyer off the table and compared the picture. My tongue hit the pit of my stomach when I swallowed.
I pointed him out to the girls and we all giggled, like we do. You know, we are girls, girls giggle over hot guys in a bar. We watch, inspect, and drool too, but we mostly giggle. One of the girls ordered a round of shots. When the shots came she shouted across the table at me, “Drink until he’s ugly!” Like that was even possible.
“Wait wait wait…” someone argued, “whhhhat?”
“That’s not our toast…drink until what?” We were in unison arguing over our tequila shot about the toast. Our toast had always been, “To great sex and lots of it!” But the girl with the toast had a very strong argument. And I had to agree with her. If I drank till he was cute, it would just mean trouble; I’d no doubt be lip-locked somewhere in a corner with him feeling up my curves underneath the brim of that hat after his set. But if I drank until he was ugly; I’d no doubt drink too much and want to puke leaving no desire to be lip-locked. He was a hottie! It would take a lot of shots to make him ugly! I wasn’t sure if I was up to the challenge.
I started with my first shot of tequila. Tequila used to be my favorite shot, but not anymore. I got drunk off tequila once while on a trip to Nashville. Me and a few friends made a spur of the moment decision to go there one Saturday evening. We checked in to a great hotel near the airport that was quite retro and fun. As we were leaving the hotel to catch a cab to the downtown area, a limo pulled up and offered us the ride for just a few bucks more. So we splurged and took the limo. I had never ridden in a limo before! It was exciting! Later that night after we had hopped from bar to bar, drinking shot after shot, it caught up with me. I found myself puking in the bathroom of the bar. My friends were wonderful taking great care of me and helping me normalize. I thought I was doing just fine too until the limo picked us back up. When the limo driver hit the highway, we were riding at a cool speed of sixty-five mph. Not too fast, right? The problem was we were riding sideways in the limo making it a very dizzy ride. The heaving began again. I needed to throw up but nothing to throw up in. Along the sides of the car was a little bar with all these little cups nestled in the console. My friend passed me cup after cup. As I threw up in each one, he carefully placed them back in the slots they came from. I must have filled all the cups in the slots by the time we arrived back at the hotel. But being the lady I was, I never spilled a drop on me, the seat of the limo, or on my friend! I was good like that!
The smell reeking from my small shot glass brought me back to the moment at hand. It was quickly rising making me already want to heave. I snuck a slice of lemon and slipped it between my lips trying to negate the smell that was penetrating my nostrils.
“Drink until he’s ugly!” she shouted again so I joined her and shouted in unison as we downed the shot. Everyone around us heard us, even the hot guy on the stage. I looked up at him; of course he was shaking his head and smiling. The girls saw where my eyes were so they all turned and gawked also. A few of them tipped their shot glass to him winking, and then downed their shots. He waved at them and strummed a few cords. Great, now I’m screwed. Nothing like watching the fingers walk the chords of a guitar nestled within the arms of a man. It’s a weakness. One I’ve had since I was a teen. I quickly found myself jealous of his Gibson.
We made our way to the dance floor by the time he started his second tune and we stayed there till his band took a break. After he stepped off the stage, his boots made their way to our table introducing himself.
His chest pressed up against my back. It was hot and large, demanding attention from me. I couldn’t breathe. “Could you, umm, would you…” I said with one set of fingers holding a lemon for me to suck on and the other set of fingers on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, “just back up a little. Right there. Thanks.”
When I turned back around to the girls, Hottie moved to the side of me and sat in the chair right next to mine. He got lucky it was an empty chair, I wasn’t so lucky. He was now at our table joining us for another round of shots that he ordered as the waitress walked by. The girls quickly warmed up to him being there, allowing him to buy them shot after shot. After about the fourth one, I declined anymore, and sat quietly back in my chair watching the show with my buzz setting in. The band motioned for him when his break was over. I was doing my best to ignore him, singing along to a song in my head, still buzzing. Mr. Hottie challenged my friends to a dance off and cut up with them as he made his way back on stage. Every spare moment he looked my way.
Time stood still or at least it felt like it did. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. My girlfriends danced and I sat on my stool and just watched every move he made. I searched for his eyes for every opportunity to lock them with mine. I felt he did the same. When his second break came, he ordered another round of shots for the girls and me. Then he sat back in his chair to make conversation with me.
“Drink till I’m ugly huh?” He cackled. “What’s that mean? I’ve never heard that before.” His smile was infectious, his body tight and fitted within the boundaries of his grey T-shirt. His knee grazed mine as he spoke teasing my upper thigh. He was a close talker too with his lips inches from mine.
“Well, it’s a saying that keeps you out of trouble. The more you drink, the less likely you’ll be able to hookup, or at least I’m that way. The more I drink, the harder it is for me to umm…think straight or umm…focus.”
“So you’re saying alcohol alters your view of me?”
With his question, he moved even closer till I was right underneath the rim of his sweet black hat. I swear his lips almost kissed me as they spoke. “And you have no desire,” he continued slowly to speak words to tease me while the tip of his fingers traced the binding on the blouse that fit tight across my chest making the girls flinch when he tickled them, “to even kiss me when you’ve been drinking?” His lips were whispering low in unison with the beat of the band. I don’t even think I heard his words. I think I needed a crash course in lip reading. I understood nothing. Was it a question? Did he ask me a question? His fingers sent chills racing to the girls again telling them to, “wake up wake up! We got a live one here!” No doubt my chest was blotchy and flushed red at this point.
“Something like that…I’m umm…more likely gonna puke on you. Besides, I’m much more sober fun.”
“Much
more sober fun? Oh really?”
“I mean fun sober. Yup.”
“Hmm…could have fooled me.” He adjusted his hat and cleared his throat.
“Yeah, me too.” He had such pretty lips. He was a mix of something, what I didn’t quite know. Maybe Hawaiian, maybe African American, White, Indian, definitely not Mexican though. “Who knew?” I added. I was still watching his lips waiting for them to move again. If I dared to look in his eyes, I would be mush so I was concentrating, concentrating on the lips. Look at the lips, Sadie, just the lips.
“So how’s that working for you?”
“Umm…honestly?” I stammered.
“Yeah, honestly.” His breath bounced, but not landing where it wanted, deep inside my lungs.
“At the moment I would say rather challenging.”
“Yeah, thought so.” He pulled back grabbing his drink, tipped his glass to his lips, and asked the ladies if they were ready for another shot. A few agreed, I, of course, declined again with the wave of my hand. My head was already spinning, my body unknowingly scooting closer to his and I couldn’t stop it. Another shot and I’d be sitting in his lap, my favorite place to be of course. My motto wasn’t working. I was failing the words of the toast, Drink Until He’s Ugly. With every beat of the music, my heart was skipping, happy to be sitting next to the Cowboy Hottie. There wasn’t another guy in sight that compared to him. What was his name again? I realized I didn’t even know. Did he tell me his name at the bar? I remembered shaking his hand and telling him mine but I couldn’t remember his. I grabbed the flyer off the table, no name. Just the name of his band. Hmm. I grabbed one of my friends and we excused ourselves to the bathroom.
The Quest Page 8