Falling in Love Again: A Valentine's Day Proposal

by Mia Ford

  Regina hums, drawing my attention away from the metal door of the locker and my current rent problems.

  I look at Regina and can feel the color filling my cheeks. “I do hope he stops by tonight though, my break is coming up.” I fan myself quickly because the blush on my face irritates the swollen ache in my eye.

  I’ve never met someone like Thomas. He knows my needs before I do and meets them in such a way that I’m never unsatisfied after we’re together. It’s fantastic every time. It just keeps getting better. He’s so hot and strong and that’s all I can think about for hours and hours after.

  When we get back to the bar, George is doing his usual showy tricks, throwing bottles in the air and twirling around. The women eat it up even though he’s one hundred percent gay. He flashes them his award-winning smile, winking at a few and blowing kisses to a few more. He sashays around the bar making me laugh. He’s a tease for sure but as long as they’re tipping well, who am I to complain?

  Once I asked if it bothered him that the women thought he was like a huge porterhouse steak they’d love to sink their teeth into. “Honey, for tips I’ll be anything they want me to be,” was his response.

  Women can be absolutely fearless when they’re drinking. I can hardly believe some of the things I’ve seen them do. One older lady had about three martinis and slid her panties off to give to him. Another one attempted to give him a lap dance but fell down and sprained her wrist climbing over the bar. There is really nothing that surprises me anymore.

  I understand George’s point as I go back out to the bar to smile at the patrons and call them by little pet names like “honey”, “Darlin”, “Sugar” or some other sickeningly sweet name. One day, maybe, I’ll have a real career and won’t have to work so hard. I mean don’t get me wrong, being a bar bitch, something Regina and I affectionately call ourselves, has its perks. I’ve met some amazing people but mixing drinks and dealing with shit like getting socked in the eye gets old really, really quick. Mixing drinks isn’t as easy as a lot of people believe. There’s a lot of skill and concentration that goes into mixing the perfect drink. Sometimes it’s a matter of a cheap tip at the end of a bar tab or several twenties that buy lunch for the rest of the week. Personally, I like to eat lunch and do my best to earn those twenties.

  Thomas won’t come up and order a drink. He’ll come in through the back and text me. He knows he’ll be recognized and he doesn’t want me on the cameras since we’re just having fun. Someone gold digging would be offended, but I agree, we’re just having fun, there’s really no need to draw unnecessary attention to whatever it is that we’re doing. I like my life just like it is, thank you very much. Well, for the most part. He might not ever be mine, not in the way conventional relationships work, but for now, I’ll take what he offers and enjoy it.

  “I heard a rumor there, love drop,” one of the regulars tells me. I know he works for one of the entertainment networks that deal with celebrity gossip. I’d overheard him trying to impress a girl with his stories of chasing celebrities. I didn’t remember which one, nor did I care as long as he’s not putting Thomas and me in the same gossip column.

  “Oh really, a rumor about what?” I ask smiling while cringing on the inside. Love drop? Really? This weasel makes my skin twitch and more than anything, I’d love to sock him in the eye. My hand twitches holding the tall glass for a Tom Collins and arranging my tray for a run out onto the floor. He keeps yammering on and I half-listen. However, the next words out of his mouth give me pause, but only briefly.

  “That you’re lapping up some of Diaz’s sloppy seconds.”

  I freeze. I can’t deny or acknowledge anything without looking guilty of something. I’m no actress here. I don’t let my face give anything away but my blood turns to ice in my veins. If he even smells a story, he’ll follow me until he catches it. I’ve seen it before when we’ve let celebrities come into the VIP section. The press is ruthless. While I’m sure the press would do nothing but add free publicity to The Spot, I’d rather not have them in my life.

  I refuse to engage. This man is as slimy as his hair looks. He wreaks of desperation for a story and way too much aftershave. Well, he won’t get a story from me. Anonymity is where I plan on residing, it’s the only place I can be and keep Thomas in my life.

  Careful to keep my face from betraying my irritation, I flash the fake smile I’ve honed to perfection, at him. “Must be thinking about someone else. I don’t know who Diaz is. Don’t know anyone by that name.” I pour him a shot and flash him a wink. “I’m flattered that you think I look like someone important enough to harass, but I’m just a bar bitch.” I flash him a smile biting back the rise of bile in my throat. “Shot’s on me.”

  I turn and walk away, leaving him watching after me. Ugh. If someone like that sleaze already suspects that something is going on, how long would it be before others picked up the scent?

  The Spot used to be The D-Spot. D means exactly what you’d think of when naming a male strip club. So, occasionally middle-aged women came in looking for a good time. When Maria, our boss, had purchased the strip club, she wanted to keep the name similar so that the previous patrons would still come in. They just would be disappointed that there weren’t any naked men, once they came inside. Her thought process was they would be disappointed, but they’d stay for a drink.

  A lot of them stayed for George, who not shockingly, worked at The D-Spot. I am sure that Maria hired him for that reason only and then was thrilled to find out he was an amazing bartender. He was also my neighbor at the apartment complex. He lived a floor above me and had been coming over to watch bad movies and eat popcorn.

  I continue to fill drinks, laugh, and occasionally take a shot bought by the customers. I chuckle at their stupid jokes and flirt as if my life depends on it. Because in all actuality, it kind of does. I have to be careful with the shots, they make my face feel numb, but they also make my tongue go loose.

  I turn and look back over my shoulder and find the tabloid dude watching my every mood. He’s relentless and obviously not giving up.

  Trying to ignore the irritation, I feel flared up inside and I give George a playful swat on the ass. “How’s it hanging buddy?”

  “Tired, I have a day job too. I don’t know how much longer I can sling drinks.” He wipes sweat from his forehead and accepts a tip from a pretty older ginger.

  I pretend to pout, but then again, the thought of George leaving saddens me. He’s fun to be around and a good friend. Who would I talk with about our goals and dreams between watching fantastic romance movies over and over again if he left and didn’t have time for me?

  “Aww, you can’t leave. You’d miss us too much,” I say, giving him a wink.

  “If I leave, you won’t have much competition for the tips anymore.” He retorts playfully.

  “I heard that,” Regina said coming back up.

  “I’ll still be your neighbor Soph, don’t worry,” George winks and bumps me gently on the shoulder.

  The band on stage kicks into a cover song the crowd knows well.

  Cupping my hands over my mouth I yell over the music, “Who’s here to party?”

  Sure, it’s cheesy, but I couldn’t care less because my energy pumps the crowd and sends people flooding to the bar and out onto the dancefloor. It gives us a minute to breathe and I notice the sleazy guy from before is finally gone somewhere in the crowd. When the band takes a break, everyone attacks the bar at once.

  I make a mental note to mention to Maria that perhaps taking a couple waitresses to help with crowd control would be smart. At least on nights where we’re at max capacity and have a band. Because honestly, I can’t handle getting in the middle of another fight with only one good eye at the moment and have a band.

  Before I have time to think there’s a lady yelling at Regina for another beer. She’s not moving fast enough in her opinion. Just another day at the office.

  Chapter 2: Thomas

  The paparazzi d
on’t follow me the way they did after the big break up, and while it’s not as much as they did before, they do, however, still follow me. Most of the time they simply yell inappropriate things about Rosa to get my reaction. I try not to give them one because I know, it will only add fuel to a fire I’d just rather let die out already.

  I know they do the same to her. We were together for almost three years and I appeared as a love-sick Romeo on countless episodes of her reality show. The time I spent on the show was not the proudest time of my life, but it could have been a lot worse. The constant reminders and cat-calls certainly don’t help. The public seems caught up in a reality they can’t have and won’t let me live the life I want.

  It was never a thing when we first started dating. Her sister had a huge scandal with a major athlete and it put their whole family on the map. Overnight we went from nights in with a pizza to nights out on the club scene making appearances. Her schedule became impossibly busy and I found it hard to keep up with her.

  Looking back now I wish we’d kept our lives a lot more private. Then, when the breakup happened it wouldn’t be so hard to see a tabloid talking about what could have been or accidentally turn on the show and see us together. Every time that happens it stings just a little bit, though not nearly as bad as it had in the beginning.

  The girl I’d been hooking up with didn’t know who I was at first. I’d even dropped the name of the reality show to see if she’d watched it. She’d told me she didn’t watch that fake crap and then reached for my belt buckle and unzipped me giving me the best blow job I ever had. The fact that she thought I was just some average Joe was a huge turn-on.

  I didn’t argue with her that a lot of it is real and just put together to be the most entertaining. The producers cut it in a way that puts certain people in better light than the others. I was happy she really didn’t know who I was. It was a refreshing change of pace and made things significantly easier. It also took stress off from me. I really hate talking about all that crap.

  It wasn’t until this last month she found out. She’d actually been flipping through the channels and happened to see me. It was almost unbelievable it had taken her that long.

  “Didn’t you ever think the guy on the front of some tabloids looked like me.” I had asked her as we were getting dressed. We’d just had a crazy hot little bump and grind in the parking lot of the bar she worked at after they’d closed. We really enjoyed public and risky places to have sex.

  There’s just something about the risk of getting caught that intensifies the sensations. Like, at any moment, someone could walk by us and see my bare ass or her as she’s bent over the trunk of the car screaming out her orgasm. It’s exciting and makes me hard just thinking about it.

  When I asked her, she thought about it a minute, “I don’t know, I guess I just never really paid attention to what was on them. They are gossip rags. Hardly a good source or news. I had zero intentions of reading them so I don’t typically make a habit out of even flipping through them. Maybe I’m oblivious to my surroundings.” I had carefully watched her face, trying to decide if she was trying to pull one over on me or if she was being sincere. The deeper I stared into her eyes, the more I realized, she was being truthful. She’s a refreshing change not interested in my money or notoriety. I know she’s not swimming in trust funds or fast cars and not once in all this time has she suggested anything of the sort. Part of me isn’t sure how to be with a woman who isn’t pining after something from me.

  “Well, maybe you just didn’t want to see,” I supply.

  She just shrugged. “Not likely. I think those things are an invasion of people’s privacy. I mean sure, you were on a reality show, so it opens you up to that sort of thing. But still, I have my own life to worry about and don’t really have the time it takes to care about someone I may never meet.”

  Ouch! “Don’t pull any punches, doll.”

  She had lifted her shoulder and licked those beautifully full lips and I had to adjust myself. She grinned at me slowly sinking to her knees, “Why would I? We’re just having a good time.”

  I smile thinking about it. We’d had a good time again after that conversation and again and again.

  Now that I see her a little more frequently, I’m taking more precautions. First, I drive my car to a parking lot downtown and call for an Uber to pick me up down the street from where I park. It feels a little like a James Bond move and heightens the experience. I always did think I’d make a good spy.

  Once I get in the car I tell the driver to take me to a package store that’s close to The Spot. I get out of the car and look around after paying to see if anyone has followed me. I know. It looks like I’m trying to do something illegal. I just don’t want to bring the craziness into Sophia’s life, and she’s been on my mind a lot more than I really care to admit. I like that she’s a nice normal girl with a kinky side to her that doesn’t have expectations of breakfast in bed the next morning or trips to Venice and fashion week.

  So far, so good. I really am old news. As long as I don’t do anything to attract their attention, they hopefully have decided I’m not worth following anymore. Keeping my head down, I jog across the street and walk around the back of the package store. From there, I make my way through the empty parking lots to the back of the bar.

  I make it to the back without incident. I can hear the music pulsing from outside as I lean my back against the rough brick wall. The lighting back here is dim, almost criminally so and for a second, I wonder how safe this really is for her walking to her car at night. I shake it off and quickly get back into the mood of why I’m here. A hookup and that’s it.

  Something rustles near the dumpster and I freeze. Is it possible someone spotted me. I’ve been very surprised the length some people will go to get a photo. Especially when Rosa and I were still together, it became the norm to see them popping out of dumpsters, jumping in our cab, or hot footing it across the street in traffic. It was a bit unnerving.

  Hot and ready, is what I text her to let her know I’m out back. The only thing I can do is wait for her to let me in and pray that someone doesn’t happen by and think I’m trying to score drugs. I snort. Wouldn’t that just be an awesome headline? Ex-boyfriend of reality star is so distraught he’s reduced to buying drugs from a seedy dive bar. It’s not that the bar is that bad. It’s just never great to be spotted behind one this late at night. My PR folks would have a field day cleaning up that kind of press and the break up alone gives them enough work to do.

  It’s amazing to me the crap people write about me. They don’t know me. They see small glimpses of my life here and there. It bothers me that they would just make things up to sell their little magazines. When they stumble upon something tangible they can take a picture of, they have a field day.

  I look down at my phone. Only a few minutes have gone by, but I get worried she’s too busy and might not be able to let me in. The door suddenly flies open, causing me to yelp like a twelve-year-old girl.

  She pokes her head out. “Did you just scream?” She’s laughing at me.

  Yes. “No,” I snort after clearing my throat. Her smile beckons me as does the wiggle of her finger calling me inside.

  She chuckles and then rolls her eyes, the wild mass of hair flying around her head like a halo makes her look ethereal in the street lamp light.

  “Hurry Hollywood,” she says. “Get in here before someone sees and both our asses are busted.”

  The hint of Latina in the lilt of her voice stirs my blood, prodding my dick awake. Nothing is sexier than when she rolls those R’s. I take that back, hearing her purr and talk while we’re having sex is sexier, but’ I’ve not told her that. Yet.

  Our relationship has been strictly sex. The conversations we have are shallow and are of your garden variety “How about the weather” topics. I can’t help that my fingers twitch wanting to latch onto her hips and hold her tight while I pound into her tight wet center from behind.

  She kno
ws who I am now, but that’s just about it. Neither one of us has ventured into anything deeper. This is okay because the less I know, the less I become attached. It’s a win-win situation.

  Neither of us seems to be bothered by this. Having met her here at the bar surrounded by people imbibing to escape who they truly were, it seemed only natural. A no strings attached relationship was often desired by people but hard to achieve. Too many feelings got involved in sex. Not with me and Sophia though. It was all raw, hot, animal passion and leave your feelings at the door. No feelings here. No sir. And, if I have any say in the matter, that is how it’s going to stay.

  The bartenders at The Spot wear denim and cut off t-shirts with the bar’s name on them. Tonight, Sophia has worn a tight little denim skirt, and it is taking all the strength I have not to reach out and grab that sweet ass. I bet I could strum the lace of her thong better than the cover band on stage right now. I groan as she walks in front of me. My eyes dancing over the natural, seductive sway of her hips. I can’t wait to push it up and screw her against a wall somewhere. I can almost feel her tight body wrapped around me. When I’m with Sophia, it’s one of the only times I can clear my mind without drowning it in a lot of alcohol. She’s the balm I need without realizing the impact she has on me.

  She’s exciting and doesn’t take everything so seriously like Rosa did. Rosa was a very straight-laced, sex with the lights off kind of girl. The sex wasn’t bad, it was just . . . well, boring. Since meeting Sophia, sex has never been so good.

  I shake away the comparison my brain has conjured. I really have to stop thinking about Rosa when I’m meeting Sophia, the two are completely different. It isn’t fair to them either. I loved Rosa once upon a time and what I have with Sophia isn’t love. It’s lust like a head-on collision I can’t keep myself away from. Of course, looking at her, I wouldn’t want to stay away.