by Ava Michaels
Just as I was considering either stabbing both of the girls I was wedged between or fleeing the whole sordid scene, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"You look like an Olivia to me."
The voice was smooth enough, firm enough, loud enough to cut right through all the commotion at the bar, but there was some kind of gentleness to it as well that just about made me swoon before I even turned around. It also sounded familiar…
The strong hand stayed on my shoulder even as I stood still. I bit my lip as I turned. I’m pretty sure my mouth fell open when I saw his face. Not only was it the guy who had thrown that troglodyte in my direction when I came in, but it was Mr. No Name himself. I hadn't even given him a second look before, and... Well, that was my mistake. I hadn’t noticed what his face looked like because it was dark… But now that he stood in the light I knew… Mr. No Name was… Big Stick…
He had the five o’clock shadow look unlike his bare face in his dating profile picture. That must have been why I didn’t realize he was the same person before. And of course he wasn’t conforming to the dress code here: he looked like he had just got off work on Wall Street or Madison Avenue or something - a really simple blue dress shirt, a couple buttons undone, tucked into his slacks, a pair of shoes that perfectly mirrored his belt. I couldn't tell you how his eyes looked that night, because I wouldn't meet them for long enough to make an assessment.
I was trying to play it cool but his smile was contagious and I stumbled for a couple words. I managed a nervous giggle.
“Elevator girl?” he said, grinning. “Never thought you were, you.”
Well, what do we have here…? Captain Frickin Obvious! This was the date I was looking forward to?
“I can’t do this. You’re you,” I said, beginning to walk away.
I could be obvious too.
He grabbed my wrist. “Who am I?”
“A… A…” I said as my heart raced. “Womanizer… A… A… Big Stick!”
Everyone at the bar gave me strange looks. Then they started laughing.
“You know I’m not some male slut. I told you that.”
“I believed you until now. Your username is BigStick and you bring home girls all the time… I’m sure your baseball story was just a way to make me think differently.”
“It’s seriously about baseball! Come on Elevator Girl… Olivia... Just enjoy the night. We don’t have to go have sex.”
I didn’t know what I was doing. Was it the girls? His username? My vagina would hate me if I didn’t put forth any effort. And my brain… My sex brain... Why was he so freaking sexy… I shook my head but still let him gently guide me out of the drunken crowd and over to a table.
”I’m glad you’re going to stay,” he said.
I wasn’t sure myself but tried to act like I was too.
"Yeah… Same here," I said, putting on a smile I hoped was charming. "Um ... What was going on there with that guy you threw at me?"
Good, Olivia, very good. You’re being funny AND straightforward.
He laughed and ran his hands through his hair. How did he keep his hair looking like that? The guy looked like he had just walked off the set of Gossip Girl, except ... Better. And did I mention his soothing and sexy voice?
"Yeah, you'll have to excuse me for that," he said. “Max is an all right guy, but you get more than a few tall boys in him and he can get a little carried away and then I need to throw him around a little, you know?”
He summoned the bartender over to our table with just a casual whistle and wave of his arm. I hadn’t even managed to get a drink when I was standing right in front of the guy.
“Sup, Ryder, what can I get you two?”
The big ape was suddenly our best friend. I wasn’t so sure I was going to need that whiskey after all. It might even turn Big Stick off.
“Two bourbons, two Buds, and some string bean fries,” he said to the bartender without hesitation. Hot damn. I hadn’t even mentioned my absolute obsession with string bean fries on the OKCupid profile.
“You know… The only thing better than a cold Bud is a warm bush.”
What was I doing? I heard the saying from Jess but now I was saying it? I needed to relax.
He began to laugh uncontrollably. “Isn’t that the truth!”
“Yeah…” I said, looking down from his eyes.
“So, tell me a little more about yourself,” he said casually.
“Um … can I just refer you to my Facebook or something?” I hoped that that came off as casual self-deprecation.
He laughed.
“How about this,” he began, taking a long sip of his beer. “We each tell each other something we’d never share on some social network profile? I’ll even go first.”
I snickered. Okay, he was really going to put me on the spot here. At least I had a minute to think. Jess always told me I think too much.
“Well,” he said, rolling his eyes back in his head and then bursting out laughing. “I guess I never really put it on any of my profiles that I’m completely… Like… Absurdly obsessed with Star Trek.”
I set my glass down and smiled at him, tipping my head a bit. Okay … so this was entering into almost serious geek territory. I mean seriously, Star Wars I could almost understand – or at least I could tolerate it or swallow it as some remnant of childhood. Star Trek, however… This was something else entirely.
I had for a long time drawn a clear line in the sand between fan boys and Trekkies. It first developed in high school, to be exact. I remembered watching and loving all three of the Star Wars films when I was a kid, and even watching the occasional episode of Star Trek, but the two were “cats of different colors.”
Star Wars had this childish, sort of swashbuckling spirit to it, and in my eyes, didn’t seem to try and take itself nearly as seriously as Star Trek did. And Star Trek fans tended to treat the series and its lore as religion, political science, and, in frightening cases I’d only read about on the internet, sexual orientation.
But here was this guy right in front of me that I’d been so keyed-up to meet and I was already dreaming of losing my V with, here he was telling me he was a “Trekkie.” Luckily, he defused the situation with a quick remark about how he knows how that sounds and promising that he wasn’t a fan-fiction writer, and gravely imploring me to never share this information with anyone outside the “Circle of Trust.” The Circle of Trust apparently was our table in The Snake Pit.
I laughed hard, and assured him that I wouldn’t. All better. Except for now it was my turn. I had nothing at the moment, but Big Stick quickly raised his whiskey shot and grinned at me.
“For now, here’s to awkward silences…” he leaned in and whispered mock-conspiratorially, “And to Trekkies!”
We were about to touch shot glasses, when I heard a familiar pair of whispers from a couple tables away. Bitchy as hell, and a lot louder than they thought they were, I instantly knew it was Veronica and Alex. They were observing my date with Big Stick… Like they were a Greek Chorus and they were drinking shots of Jagermeister and cackling like hyenas.
Needless to say, I was not impressed.
I spilled half of both our shots when I heard the two and instinctively whipped my head towards them.
“Whoa, what the hell?!” he said loudly. “What kind of a spaz move was that Elevator Girl?”
I groaned and leaned in, after drinking the remains of my shot, and he followed in suit grinning.
“Those are my friends over there… No, don’t look!” I hissed as he turned to see Veronica and Alex leaning over their table, knocking over condiments and shot glasses and pretending they weren’t staring at me. They were worse than the amateur hour actors in the “modern” theater company some of the art majors had put together and that I had had the displeasure of seeing practice their craft on more than two occasions.
“Shit! Just look natural. That pretty boy sees us!” I heard Veronica slur as she grabbed hold of Alex’s head roughly and manhandle
d him nearly out of his seat.
“Really…?” He seemed a bit incredulous and unimpressed.
“Hey,” I whispered. “You’re big secret of shame is that you are a fan of Star Trek. Mine is those whack job friends over there. This is college after all, right?”
“Yeah, yeah; you got me there,” he smiled, running a hand through his hair. “So, I assume they’re here to monitor things and make sure I’m not some serial killer?”
I blushed. How do I explain characters like Veronica and Alex?
“Not exactly.”
Now I was really glad Ryder had ordered those shots. Now that my date and I were back to talking to each other and not looking at them, out of the corner of my eye I could see Veronica and Alex leaning back towards us in a way that was almost comically obvious.
“If I can be perfectly honest …”
“And you can.” He smiled and sipped his beer.
“They’re here to make sure I get laid.”
Wow, that half of a shot I’d just taken seemed to be doing its job.
I was a lightweight.
Ryder laughed and leaned back, doing that thing with his hair again. I couldn’t decide if it was cute or just some sort of uncontrollable nervous tic.
“Well, in that case, maybe we should give them a show… My username is Big Stick.”
I set my shot glass down with what felt like the force of a boulder. I really liked this dream boat, but… A big stick sounded painful. I crossed my legs. My trap was officially out of order after hearing him say those two words so seductively... For now…
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” he said emphatically, still placing his hand over mine. “That was half a joke, really.”
I laughed and tried to ignore my two friends just tables away from us, who were clearly hanging on every word they could glean from our conversation.
“It’s okay,” I said. Then, leaning in conspiratorially: “How hard do you think it would be to get out of here and like… Lose them?”
“I don’t know,” he replied.
His eyes were definitely sexy. If he pointed them at me just right I might have reopened my trap and dropped my pants on the spot. The alcohol really did make me think big.
“You still haven’t told me something about yourself that you wouldn’t share on a web profile.”
“What are you talking about? I already told you, you’re looking at the two of them, over there at that table. Do you really think I’d let the world know I associate with savages like that?”
He shook his head as if this just wasn’t good enough. It looked like we were going to be playing this game. After that half-shot of whiskey and the few sips of beer I’d had, I was up for it.
I heard Alex scream like a sorority girl at the other table as Veronica spilled another glass of beer. She had probably stained his new American Apparel top … Probably the same as his last American Apparel top. Such were the things that made Alex scream.
“Okay, so, something I wouldn’t share on a website…” I was trying to buy time, playing with my hair, swishing Dartmouth’s ubiquitous draft beer around in my glass, and trying to ignore the drunken din around me. I looked back at my colleagues again and when I turned back towards Big Stick… I said the one embarrassing word that you shouldn’t say to someone who calls himself Big Stick. “I’m a virgin.”
Shit. I couldn’t believe those words had just escaped my mouth. It was as if I had no control. You’d understand if you saw this man. My mind ran through a litany of pretty much every curse word I knew just then as I watched his reaction as if in slow motion. Had I screwed this whole thing up beyond repair?
It seemed that I had not.
“That’s cool,” he said, raising his beer glass again.
I toasted mugs with him, but robotically, having stunned myself with the idiocy of that revelation. Really, Olivia, I thought – you couldn’t have come up with something more along the lines of Star Trek or even like, secretly dancing around to old Britney Spears tunes sometimes in the morning?
“Well, I guess your username is perfect now,” I said, looking away from him.
However, before he could respond, Veronica and Alex started shouting.
“Oh shit, they so toasted again! This is going great!” I heard Veronica yelling across the table to Alex, totally unnecessarily. How many Jager shots had she taken?
“And that’s another drink you owe me,” she continued.
Throughout this, another scuffle was starting over by the bar, with meatheads flying left and right, glasses breaking, and someone’s “summa jam” pumping out of the jukebox at a painful volume. I didn’t care so much about those string bean fries anymore, and sort of doubted they’d be showing up anyway…
Big Stick seemed to read my mind.
“Here’s to Star Trek, virginity, and um…” He was leaning in really close now and I could smell his cologne. It was classy – not too strong, with a vaguely leather sort of smell. “Getting the hell out of here?”
Big Stick grinned, clearly suggesting that we drink and ditch. I nodded vigorously and got up with him. As we wound our way through the bar, he was whispering in my ear.
“Now, I’ve done this plenty of times, so just stick with me and you’ll be fine.”
I looked at him skeptically. He didn't really seem like that sort of guy. We just stared at each other for a moment, and then he cracked up.
"Just kidding, Olivia!" he laughed. "But I’m up for an adventure if you are... Whaddaya say?"
I can’t lie – this was pretty great. Then he threw a wad of cash on the table.
Veronica and Alex were falling all over their table and each other trying to tail us, and, luckily, seemed to catch the eye of the bartender. Somehow they seemed more outliers in this bar than the frat boys throwing drunken punches at each other over by the jukebox.
In moments, we were out of The Snake Pit, into the cool fall air, and walking away from the bar. Would this be a perfect night?
-----------Chapter 10-----------
Outside the overcrowded, noisy, sweaty, Snake Pit, a breath of fresh air awoke me. I grabbed Big Stick’s hand and hurried him away from the front door. Bold move for me. I didn’t want Veronica and Alex to be cramping my style all night and I thought they might be cramping his as well. So pulling him in the opposite direction was my only option.
We rounded the corner of the building and sat down on a stone bench normally reserved for too-drunk girls and people looking to smoke a joint. I was hiding us from my crazy friends. Tonight, bat shit crazy. I wasn’t going to allow them scare away Big Stick. He was freaking gorgeous and had even offered to eat my pie... At this point I would have loved to have him lick my plate clean. Hubba, hubba.
He was smiling and breathing in the air. He lit up a small cigar and took a puff. It smelled wonderful when mixed with his warm spicy cologne and natural musk. Cigars didn’t bother me. Well, unless he smoked them all the time. It made him seem like more of a man then all the young college guys, which thankfully he wasn’t. It was like he was Brad Pitt in the movies.
Made my thighs want to open up.
He offered the cigar to me.
“Sure, thanks” I said, trying to be casual and retain some measure of the dignity I lost admitting I was a virgin. I wanted to seem cool, so I took a drag from the cigar, but then coughed. Then coughed some more. Then gasped and let loose with a few hacks. Now I know why people just puff them. How embarrassing. Who wants to screw a girl who almost died from smoking a cigar? Jeez, I was cock blocking myself.
“Sorry,” I managed to spit out through my ninety year old coughing fit.
“It’s okay,” he said, grinning. “These aren’t the best but I use to smoke them when I was sixteen. So I smoke them every once in a while.”
I smiled. “So tell me an embarrassing story you wouldn’t tell anyone else,” I said, stalling for time and hoping it would be embarrassing enough to throw a bucket of cold water on these overheating ovaries.
I didn’t need Big Stick to run away. Otherwise my cherry would still not be picked, popped, or whatever… Trying to get him to tell me a story was my way to keep him busy and not think about a way to leave. He was gorgeous, interested in community service, and had his life together. OH, AND A SEXY VOICE.
“Oh, it will be fun to hear yours, if your first question’s response is anything to judge by,” he said and I could feel my face heating up despite the cold air outside. “But as a gentleman, I will go first...”
He paused and took a long drag of his cigarillo, looking up into the sky blowing a long stream of smoke into the air. I could see him searching his brain for a good one and then all of a sudden he started.
“When I was growing up I had three brothers that terrorized me. Johnny, Trevor, and Zach. Growing up in Nebraska, about two hundred miles out of Omaha, there were plenty of opportunities to find me down by the river and toss me in, find me sledding on Boone’s Hill...”
I guffawed louder than was appropriate for a lady.
“What? Boone’s Hill?” I said, still laughing and wiping a few tears from my eyes.
“Yeah,” he said, looking puzzled. “It was a hill. It was owned by Marshall Boone and it’s been in the Boone Family for generations...”
I laughed again. “Do they own a farm? Maybe make some melon ball wine?”
He was still confused. Oh wow, he doesn’t know about Boone’s Farm, the wine cooler that every American high school kid drank at some point in their lives.
“Yeah… They did. It wasn’t a real farm. It was just for show really.”
Perfect. I need to buy this guy a few bottles of Boone’s Farm tonight. I can’t believe he doesn’t know what it is. I’ll let him go for now.
“Alright, Mr. corn bread. Continue with your hay-pickin’ story.”
“Okay… So like I was saying. They would find me sledding on Boone’s Hill,” I laughed a little, “and toss me down it or knock me off my sled. They were real jackasses that needed to get their comeuppance.”