Winning Back Ryan

by S. L. Siwik

  He blinked. “That’s quite a wager. Forever?”

  I nodded. “Until the day I die.” I fought back tears.

  “Done,” he said, holding our hands out and shaking on it. I let out a shaky breath. I badly needed to win this. Losing Brian from my life would feel like the equivalent of having my arm cut off.

  “So, how are we going to do this?” I asked.

  “Take out the writing pad from your pocketbook,” he said.

  I blushed. “I don’t have a pad with me.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yes, you do. It’s for when you get ideas for that book you want to write. You’ve been carrying it around since freshman year.”

  I bit my lower lip, pulling out the blank pad. He fanned the book out, glimpsing at the empty pages.

  “No ideas lately, huh?” I glanced down at the lit floor, shrugging. I hadn’t felt all that inspired, just exhausted. “Okay,” he said, “here you go.” He ripped several sheets out of the notepad before handing it back to me.

  “Here,” I handed him an extra pen in my pocketbook. “Wouldn’t want you to cry that you were at a disadvantage without a pen.”

  He smirked at me, his eyes glimmering as I started sipping the rest of my drink. “Let me just get one more drink before we start this,” I said, standing up and walking over to the bar.

  The bartender brought me a new drink, I held out the money to pay, and I forced myself not to laugh by digging my fingernails into my leg. The pain kept me from laughing out, and I flashed him a smile- it was probably more like a grimace because of the pain- and made my way back to our couch.

  I knew something fishy was going on when I neared the couch and two strippers, who were sitting next to Brian, turned their attention to me smiling. I sat down, sipping my drink.

  “So, are we starting now?” he asked me.

  I nodded. “We’re starting now.” That’s when the stripper closest to me pivoted toward me, the other one getting up to come sit on my other side. I glanced at Brian, demanding an answer, but knew I was in trouble when I saw his ‘cat who ate the canary’ expression.

  “You have great breasts,” the one said. “Can I squeeze them? Are they real?”

  I’m pretty sure my mouth dropped open and my eyes bulged out of my head. I was not homophobic, not in the least, but I was straight. I had no inclination towards the fairer sex at all. That being said, on a scale of one to ten, those women were a twelve, and I found myself unable to say no. If a straight chick couldn’t resist them, then heterosexual men didn’t have a chance in heaven. They were complete and utter vixens. I downed my drink in three gulps.

  “Enjoy,” Brian said, smirking. He stood up, walking away towards the dance floor. I glared at him defiantly.

  The one stripper began to squeeze my breast, squealing. “They are so soft, yet firm! I’m jealous! I want a pair. Breast implants don’t feel like this.”

  “I wanna feel!” The other one shouted as she grabbed my other breast. “Wow, you’re really pretty.”

  I looked down at the two women who were thoroughly enthralled. There just wasn’t enough alcohol in all of New York for this.

  “You really do have fantastic breasts,” the first woman said, and the other one nodded her head in agreement.

  I thought about how I could change this situation to my advantage. I looked down at the two strippers. Every guy wanted to give his phone number to a woman who looked like them.

  “Ladies, I need your help with something.”

  I quickly told them about the bet and what was at stake. They both cocked their heads sideways at me like twins.

  “Why don’t you want to lose?”

  “It’s complicated,” I muttered. Bombshells like this wouldn’t understand.

  “He seems really sweet.” the other one commented, motioning towards Brian. I realized he was on the dance floor with a group of girls huddled around him. Uh oh.

  “Who, Brian? No, we’re just best friends. That’s all. It can’t ever be more than that.”

  “He’s really cute, and he seems to really care about you. Why not go for him?”

  “We’ve been down this road before. I’m not going back.” I sighed, telling them the story about Brian’s and my first and only date.

  They giggled at me. “He was eighteen, excited, and he really liked you. He’s not a teenager anymore. Doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?”

  I swallowed hard. “I like having him as my best friend. I don’t want to lose what we have.” They just didn’t understand. I sipped my drink, the ice cubes clinking against the glass as I fought against the memories.

  I knock on his door, calling out his name, “Brian?”

  Stepping into his dorm room, seeing his limp body on the bed, his eyes closed, his hand dangling off the bed.

  “Brian?” I call again to no response. My heart pounds fiercely in my chest as I run over to him slapping his face. “Brian!” I find the empty bottle of pills on the nightstand and I place two fingers on his neck, feeling for a pulse. I sigh in relief when I feel it.

  I wrap my arms around his limp body, picking him up as I pry open his mouth and shove my fingers down his throat. “You are not dying,” I scream as he begins to gag. His eyes pop open wide as he vomits over the side of the bed. “I will never forgive you if you die.”

  I shove my fingers down his throat again and force him to vomit. I reach for his cell phone to dial 9-1-1, my hands trembling violently, waiting for the operator to pick up. “Stay with me Brian, don’t leave me.”

  I opened my eyes to find both women watching me.

  “Suit yourself.” They both stood up and winked at me. “Just think about what we said. We’ll help you get numbers, though.”

  I sighed in relief, thanking them as they walked off, and it dawned on me what just happened. Brian paid them the price of a lap dance to grope and talk to me, stalling me in the process. It was probably the easiest money they have ever made. I finished my drink admiring and loathing his tactic.

  Standing next to four guys in a circle, I was so nervous my hands were sweating.

  “Hey guys,” I started off as all four turned in my direction. “I was wondering if you could help me out with something. Do you see my friend over there?” I pointed towards Brian who was near the dance floor. “He and I have a bet going to see who can collect the most amount of phone numbers from the opposite sex in an hour.”

  They asked me what the stakes were and I told them.

  One guy in his late thirties with slicked back brown hair and light brown eyes asked me, “So, is your friend a scumbag?”

  “Brian? No. He’s awesome. The best friend a girl can have.” The men all look at each other smiling.

  “So, if he wins you have to stay with him a month,” another guy who looked like the first’s identical twin said.

  “Yeah,” I said letting out a long sigh. I didn’t even want to think about staying with Brian a whole month. It would get complicated fast.

  “Sorry, we can’t help you,” The first guys said.

  I blinked. “What? Listen, I swear I’m not some crazy stalker or something. You don’t even need to give me your real phone number. Just write down a bunch of numbers. Please.” Note to self: whining and begging was so sexy.

  “Sorry, we can’t do that,” the guy said, smirking.

  “Why not?” I asked, horrified that I had been rejected.

  “Because we want to help the guy out,” the twin said before taking a sip of his beer.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, walking away. Thanks for nothing.

  Unfortunately, I had a several more conversations like that one. I did collect a couple of phone numbers as I decided to change my story around, as well as a few free drinks courtesy of a few nice gentlemen. The strippers picked up quite a few phone numbers for me, too. But, I was afraid that I didn’t have enough. And I couldn’t lose. So, I slipped into a side booth and when I was sure no one saw me, I scribbled fake phone numbers down onto a few p
ieces of paper. When the hour was gone, we counted out the numbers.

  “Okay,” he said, sitting back down with me on the sofa. “Let’s count.”

  We both counted out all of our numbers. When we’re done, Brian looked up at me.

  “Fifteen,” I said.

  His face dropped. “I have thirteen.” My heart soared.

  “So, are you going to honor the bet?” I asked nervously. His warm green eyes met mine, nodding. I felt a pang of guilt suddenly for cheating. I was a very honest person and for a second I thought about admitting the truth. I just couldn’t lose him, though.

  “Do you really think it’s important that I stay away from Ryan for the month?” I asked.

  He nodded his head. “Yes, I really do.”

  I bit my lip. “I’m going to think about that some more.”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “Do you want to dance?”

  Dance, no. I wanted to get another drink at the bar and drool some more, thank-you very much.

  “Sure. After another drink.” We were forced to lean in close to talk because the song changed and the music pounded so loudly that it was difficult to hear anything. He nodded, so I grabbed his drink and swallowed it in four gulps. The room was hazier, and I was now smiling. “Okay, we can dance now.”

  He stood up, and I walked with him towards the dance floor.

  “Hey, we haven’t done this in a while,” I commented.

  “I know,” he shouted back, “All the more reason to do it.”

  We made our way to the dance floor, Brian taking my hand, leading me. The dance started off very innocently. The two of us danced with a respectable distance between us. He smiled, spinning me out, and I found myself smiling back. One dance turned into two, which turned into three. By the third dance, he innocently put his hand out, and I took it, allowing him to pull me into his dance space. With his hand on my lower back, his other hand clasped in mine, he lead me around the dance floor. We were close, but still just dancing. He spun me and then pulled me back into his embrace. It was good, ol’ fashioned, harmless fun with no body-to-body contact. We still hadn’t crossed that boundary yet- where two friends start acting a little more than friends. You might not be able to clearly define that boundary, but when you saw it, you knew it.

  Three more songs went by in the same manner. Brian spun me out, but only half way, and then moved in to close the space. This left him at my back. He was still holding on to my hand, though, as I felt his chest against my back, the touching nearly feather light. I could feel his presence, but he was not grinding against me. I felt fine, and this was fun. Ryan hated dancing, so we never went out to clubs. And anything he hated was exactly what I wanted to do now.

  Our rhythm synced perfectly, and we moved as one. I think it was just because we have known each other for so long. It was easy for us to predict the other’s dance moves. After another two dances, however, his free hand gently moved down my neck, over my shoulder, and down my arm, and I stopped breathing for a few seconds. His hand continued trailing down, resting on my hip.

  Perhaps it was the several drinks I had, the dimly lit club giving an intimate feel. Maybe it was my hormones racing from the bartender, or the cardamom still wafting through the room, or the fact that we’re in a strip club. Or maybe it was just Brian, his smell and touches a source of comfort during my emotional upheaval and my fear of losing him. Whatever the reason as I listened to Dev’s In the Dark, I started grinding against him. It wasn’t deep or intense, just a very slow, light grind, moving my hips in figure eights. Our legs and thighs were barely touching. But, this was crossing the friendship boundary, even my fuzzy brain figured out.

  A song or two later, and I came up with the brilliant plan of turning around, sliding my arms around his neck, moving my body against his frame. Just our thighs and hips actually touched, my legs between his, space between our upper bodies, but God help me; I certainly had never done this with him before…or anyone else for that matter. Finally, having enough courage to meet his gaze, I realized his eyes were heavily hooded, his breaths long and deep. There was a part of my brain screaming that this was wrong. He was my best friend. The other side of my brain asked me what was wrong. We were not grinding hard; he wasn’t practically impregnating me. The other side screamed that I was making up excuses.

  That’s when I told Brian I need to use the ladies’ room; I needed to clear my head and get some perspective. He told me he would sit down on the couch we were on before, and I nodded, making my way for the door.

  Inside the bathroom, the entire room was decorated in frosted glass, as were the stalls. I splashed some water on my face and looked at myself in the mirror.

  “What are you doing?” I asked myself.

  I tried not to give men mixed signals, but, this was confusing. I told myself that this was all happening because my head wasn’t on right, because of everything that happened this weekend. I was just looking to unwind. Besides, I had seen plenty of friends dance that way before, and they didn’t go home with the guy.

  I walked back out and over to the couch; Brian was drinking something- maybe a rum and Coke.

  “Wanna get out of here?” he asked.

  I blinked, surprised by his question, and nodded. It was probably best to get myself out of this situation. I knew Brian long enough to know when he asked me if I wanted to do something, it was because he actually wanted to and was trying to be a gentleman about it. So, I knew that Brian wanted to leave.

  “Sure,” I replied and he stood up swiftly, taking my hand-the place has gotten crowded now-and walked to the exit.

  “Wait just a second,” I said, because I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to the hottest man I had ever seen.

  “Goodnight,” I said to the bartender, giving him a generous tip. “Your drinks…” abs, body, everything, just marry me… “are fantastic.”

  “Thanks,” he said, taking the money that I slid across the bar. “Call me when you want to get together.”

  Curiosity got the best of me and I asked, “My friend. How did you know he wasn’t my ex?”

  He smiled, a pair of ultra-white perfectly aligned teeth caught my eye.

  “I’ve been doing this for a long time. You get good at reading body language.”

  “And what did his body language say?” I asked.

  “His eyes are still hopeful and not wary, which meant I didn’t think he was your ex, because he hadn’t been burned yet. When I slid my card to you after you said he was your friend, he gave me a death glare, which in guy’s language told me he loves you. Your body language told me that you’re confused.”

  Now I’m stupefied, and barely sputtered out the words, “You really think he loves me?”

  Sexy gave me a half-smile. “He’s in a room full of half-naked woman. The only woman he’s even glanced at twice is you. When he came to the bar, he started drilling me to make sure that if you did call me, I’d be good to you.”

  “No, you’re wrong,” I said, feeling terrified at the truth in his words, “We’re just close. Been best friends for a long time. He doesn’t want to date me.”

  “Turn around and see where his attention is at. If you’re not interested in him, give me a call.” He winked before walking off.

  I turned and glanced at Brian whose eyes were on me. I walked over, forcing a smile. He pushed the club door, and we stepped into the night.

  Outside, he hailed a cab, and we were forced to wait a few minutes since it was Saturday night in Times Square. In these few minutes, my mind decided that bartender and George were both wrong; Brian was not interested in me, and we’re just friends. Finally, a taxi pulled over and we stepped inside. He told the driver the destination, as I grabbed onto the seat.