by Katia Rose
I narrow my eyes.
“A bad joke,” he adds.
“This is strike one,” I say as I sit back down, “and I don’t play baseball, so you only get two.”
“Point taken. So what do you want to work on now?”
I glance at the clock. “We’ve got fifteen minutes before my next class. I already have a few slogan ideas, so let’s keep brainstorming those.”
Setting the paper between us, I keep a wary gaze focused on him as he reads them over. He talks as smooth as the satin and silk we’re trying to sell, but I’m worried whatever promises he makes will be just as easy to rip.
3
Listen to the Music
“Excited for your big date?” asks Alice.
We’re sitting in our Client Relations class, waiting for the instructor to arrive. She’s already fifteen minutes late, and unable to resist the pull of getting an early start to their Friday evening, half the students have already walked out.
I’ll give the instructor another ten minutes, but after that I know I’ll probably be doing the same thing. Two weeks ago, Alice and I went out for some end of the week drinks and I ended up meeting a tall, dark stranger at the bar. By then Alice and I had already progressed from sipping vodka tonics to straight up downing shots of Finlandia, but somehow my tipsy self still managed to impress the guy enough for him to ask me out on a date.
“I am, actually,” I answer. “I know I was kind of drunk when I met him, but we’ve been texting a bit and I think he just might be one of those rare, in-the-middle kind of guys.”
“In-the-middle?” repeats Alice. “Is that some weird sex term from back in the day?”
I feign offence. “You are only five years younger than me, Alice Strauss. We have the same weird sex terms. To answer your question though, no, it’s not about sex.”
Pulling out a notebook from my bag, I flip to an empty page and draw a large Venn diagram.
“Graphs?” questions Alice. “Shit just got real.”
“This,” I explain, pointing to one half of the diagram, “is the kind of guys who have drive and motivation.” I write ‘Drive and Motivation’ down in the circle. “And this,” I continue, pointing to the second half, “is the kind of guys who are fun and have great personalities.” I label the section accordingly and then point to the middle. “This is the elusive man in the middle, someone who’s as dedicated to reaching their goals as I am, but still has the ability to laugh and be interesting.”
Alice draws her eyebrows together. “It doesn’t sound that rare, you know.”
“I know,” I agree. “I’m really not that demanding, but it is so hard to find someone like this. I’ve met guys who have detailed five year plans and run their own start-up businesses while working a full time job, but they can’t talk about anything other than work and get nervous when they spend more than two hours a day not advancing their careers.”
“I guess you’d never get more than a quickie,” Alice laughs.
“And he’d probably be checking his email at the same time,” I joke back. “But then on the other end of the spectrum, there’s the guy who’s hilarious and great at a party and would bang you for two days straight if you let him, but he’s tchau tchua as soon as you start to talk about serious things.”
“And you think this guy you’re going out with is the happy medium?”
“Happy,” I agree, “and smart, and driven, and charming, and funny, and a bit mysterious, and really, really great in bed. That’s all I ask.”
Alice shakes her head. “I’ve said it before; you’re the queen of picky. I’d settle for just two or three of those things.”
“I don’t settle. Not for myself, and not for anyone else.”
“So,” Alice says slyly, pointing at the diagram, “where would Aaron Penn fit in on this thing?”
I shoot her a look. “This is a diagram for guys I’d actually consider going on dates with. Aaron Penn is not on this. Aaron Penn is over here.”
I reach for the notebook and draw a small circle in the corner of the page, labelling it ‘Planet of the Douche’ when I’m done. I make a little stick figure and put Aaron’s name on top of it.
Alice lets out one of her room-shaking laughs and the few students left in the class all stare at us. I check the clock and decide it’s time we got the weekend started.
“Do you want a ride home?” I ask Alice, as we make our way through the hall.
“Oh thanks, but I’m working tonight, so I’ll just walk over.”
She has a job at the Subway on the edge of the campus, and never fails to entertain with stories of sandwiches gone wrong. We say goodbye after leaving the building and I head over to the parking lot.
I hug my books to my chest, running through several imaginary outcomes for this evening as I make my way to my car. It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve seen the guy from the bar and the details of his face have already faded, but I fill them in with some complimentary replacements. He’s a financial advisor at a major bank downtown, and from the sound of his texts he has at least a bit of a sense of humor.
I’m so caught up in picturing us sitting in a secluded booth together, his hand making its way up my thigh, that the shoulder knocking hard against mine takes me by surprise. My books scatter across the pavement and I let out a Portuguese curse, almost toppling over. The person who bumped into me grabs onto my upper arm to help me catch my balance.
“Oh, shit, sorry. I was checking my—”
I look up at Aaron Penn just as he looks down at me, his apology going silent as we recognize each other.
I never noticed his eyes are blue.
The thought crashes through me, erasing everything else, and we stare at each other like we’re caught in a freeze frame.
Then I feel his hand tighten around my arm and I shrug him off. I bend down to start picking up my things and he joins me, hunching over the asphalt to pile advertising textbooks into his arms.
“Idiota,” I mutter to myself.
“Hey, you weren’t exactly paying attention either, Peaches.” His tone is light, but his smile falters a bit when I lift my head to give him the darkest death glare I can manage. “Right. No Peaches.”
We stand up at the same time, and Aaron’s about to hand my books back when his eye catches on the page in front of him. He raises an eyebrow at me.
“What?” I snap.
“Planet of the Douche?” he questions, his smirk growing a mile a minute.
“Give that back!” I try to sound angry and aloof, hiding all the embarrassment rushing through me behind another glare.
My arms are still piled with stuff, keeping me from grabbing the notebook out of Aaron’s hands. I start shoving textbooks into my bag, but by then he’s read through the whole page.
“This is cute, Dominguez,” he teases, twisting out of my way as I try to snatch the diagram back. “Really, this is adorable. ‘Fun and have great personalities.’ That is so sweet.”
“I swear to God, Penn, if you don’t stop being such a carahlo and give that back, I’m going to have you in a sleeper hold in about five seconds.”
He starts moving up the line of cars, making sure to stay just out of my reach. “That’s not really my kink, sweetheart, but sure, I’m down to experiment.”
I realize I look like an overexcited puppy, chasing after him and jumping up to grab the notebook he’s now holding over his head. Trying to save a bit of my dignity, I stop with my feet planted on one of the yellow parking lines. “For fuck’s sake, just give me my stuff back.”
He sighs and then lowers the notebook, walking over to hand it and the few textbooks he has back to me. I clutch them to my chest and do an about-face, intending to march over to my car without another word or backward glance.
Instead, Aaron starts trotting along beside me. “So, what’s the story with that? Were you trying to list all the reasons to date me?”
I snort, putting as much disdain into the noise as I can muster.
“No, dumbass. This had nothing to do with you.”
“Then why is my name on it?” he asks, sounding way too pleased with himself.
We reach my car and I dig through my purse, pulling out the keys and unlocking the doors. I toss my bag onto the back seat.
“I don’t need to answer your questions,” I tell Aaron, not even looking his way as I open the front door.
“It was about dating me, wasn’t it? It’s okay. You don’t have to admit it.”
I should just get in the car and drive away. He’s reeling me into the conversation like a fish on a hook. I should spit out the bait and leave him standing here, but something about the slyness in his tone twists a nerve in me that I can’t ignore.
I whirl around to face him. “No, Penn, it was not. As a matter of fact, it was about dating someone else. Someone I will be seeing tonight. Someone who is definitely not you.”
He’s standing with one elbow propped against the roof of my car. His other hand adjusts his beanie.
“Get off of my car,” I add. “You’ll smudge it.”
He laughs outright at that. “Look at this thing. Smudges are the least of your worries.”
“I’m pretty sure whatever sleazeball slime you ooze isn’t going to wash off.”
“Sleazeball?” He opens his eyes wide and places a hand over his chest. “If I can’t call you Peaches, you definitely can’t call me sleazeball.”
“Then stop being one.” I move to get into the driver’s seat. “Now get off my car. Like I said, I have a date to get to.”
“You gonna tell me about him?” Aaron asks, not budging an inch.
“No,” I reply.
“But Christina, how will I ever get off the Planet of the Douche if you don’t tell me how to be more like guys who are, oh what was it, driven and motivated while still being fun?”
“That’s a lost cause,” I inform him. “This guy is the total opposite of you.”
“So he’s, what?” Aaron prompts. “A lonely basement dweller with an obscene amount of back hair?”
“No,” I retort, “he’s a successful financial advisor with a promising career. He’s classy, has manners, makes jokes that are actually funny, and looks very good in a suit.”
“Ouch,” Aaron replies, clutching his chest. “That’s the opposite of me?”
“Yes. You are none of those things.”
I climb into the car, intending to leave, but Aaron clamps a hand down on the door before I can pull it shut.
“I’ll tell you one thing, Dominguez,” he says, leaning down so we’re face to face. “That guy you’re going out with, he’s not going to be fun. He might tick off all the other boxes on your list. He might be charming and smart and motivated and have a carahlo that will keep you up all night long—”
“Do you even know—” I start to interrupt, but Aaron cuts me off.
“Yes, I know what carahlo means. You call me that enough that I looked it up.” He gives me a smile that I don’t return. “All I’m saying is, ‘fun’ is not something you put on a list. Fun is something that takes you by surprise, that makes you forget the list ever even existed in the first place. If this guy hasn’t done that already, he never will.”
I blink at Aaron, his eyes fixed on mine as I try to keep myself from getting caught up in their beach water blue. That’s probably the only reason girls like him so much. He has the kind of eyes that make you feel like you’re the only person in the world when he’s staring at you.
“Uh, thanks, love guru,” I mutter, focusing on the windshield ahead of me. “But I don’t really need your relationship advice.”
He lets go of the car door and shrugs. “If you say so, niña.”
“That’s Spanish, not Portuguese,” I tell him, pulling the car door shut before he can get in another word.
I walk into the dimly lit bar, the sounds of the street outside replacing themselves with muffled chatter and clinking glasses. It takes me about two seconds to realize I’m severely underdressed.
If I had to describe my personal style, I’d go with a classy yet casual, I’m-fun-but-I’ve-got-my-shit-together kind of vibe. Tonight’s outfit fits perfectly along those lines: dark skinny jeans paired with wedges and a sheer black top, worn under a dark brown leather jacket that’s snug enough to show off my curves.
Where the look doesn’t fit perfectly is in a bar filled with men in suits and women in diamonds. Plush booths line the walls and the towering shelves of liquor bottles on display behind the bar glimmer like a collection of crown jewels. There’s even a grand piano tucked away in a corner. This place is definitely the territory of toe-pinching heels and the LBD.
I’m still standing in the doorway taking in the scene when a man in one of the booths stands up and waves at me. I make my way over and take the outstretched hand he offers me.
“Christina.”
“Drew,” I answer, unable to keep my eyes from going wide as he brings my hand to his lips and plants a soft kiss on the back of it.
He keeps his gaze glued to mine the entire time, the corner of his mouth stretching up into a smile before he lets my hand go.
Okay, I think, a bit creepy, but maybe it was ironic?
“So you’re the chivalrous type?” I joke, hoping he’ll join me in laughing.
“I couldn’t resist,” he responds, smiling again as he sits back down.
I join him, choosing to take his answer as confirmation that he realizes greeting someone with hand kissing and unbroken eye contact is a bit weird.
“I feel very underdressed,” I admit, trying to ease the awkwardness. “I didn’t realize we were going somewhere so classy.”
“I like your style,” he answers. “You look...fresh, if that’s not too strange of a thing to say.”
Yeah dude, it’s pretty strange.
“Maybe a little,” I laugh, “but I’ll take it as a compliment.”
He flashes me another smile. “Wardrobe choices aside, do you like the place?”
My eyes follow his swooping hand as he gestures around the room. The lights are so dim I can barely make out the faces of the other people here, but each booth is set up with a miniature candelabrum of tiny, flickering flames. They make the crystal glasses and dark wood of the tables glimmer in the near-dark.
“Yeah,” I answer. “It’s got a very classic feel.”
“Just wait until the pianist gets here. You’ll feel like you’ve stepped back in time.”
He’s poetic, I think. A definite plus.
“Here,” he says, handing me a drink menu, “or do you already know what you’d like?”
“I have my fallbacks, but that collection over there is tempting me to try something new.”
I glance down at the menu and feel my breath get lodged in my throat. I wouldn’t even consider paying some of these prices for an entire meal, never mind for just a cocktail. I let my eyes wander up and down the page, already knowing I’m going to order the cheapest thing I can find. Even if Drew takes the bill, there’s no way I’m ordering a twenty-two dollar drink.
I flick my gaze up towards Drew and see that he’s staring out across the bar, so I take the chance to give him a detailed looking over. He’s slightly older than I remembered, but I usually go for older guys anyways. He’s not good looking enough to induce instant swooning, but there’s something eye-catching about the sharpness of his face, all chiselled angles and intensity.
He turns his head and catches me looking at him, smiling the same smile he did after kissing my hand.
Okay, maybe there’s just a little too much intensity in that face.
A server in a waistcoat approaches and takes our order. I go for a simple gin and tonic, while Drew orders an old fashioned. I’m relieved he’s not the type to go for a ridiculously priced cocktail.
We spend the next twenty minutes chatting about his job and my school. He cracks a few jokes about his office and seems genuinely interested in learning about what I study in each of my courses. Our drinks
sit almost untouched in front of us, the conversation flowing so well that there are no long pauses filled with awkward sipping.
I’m just about to ask Drew where he went to school when he holds up a finger, looking towards the piano.
“This pianist is here,” he announces, like he’s informing me that a member of the royal family just walked in the room. A grey-haired man in tails takes a seat at the piano bench and starts shuffling some sheet music around.
“Oh,” I respond. “Do you know him?”
“I come here a lot to hear him play. Do you mind if we just enjoy the music for a moment?”
I’d suspect this of being some kind of act to make himself seem sensitive and romantic, if it weren’t for the serious look on his face and how his eyes have been latched onto the piano for a solid minute now. I nod my agreement and we sit in silence as the tinkling sound of a jazz song starts to fill the room.
Once we’re about halfway through the song, I turn my attention from the piano back to Drew, expecting him to be ready to continue our conversation. Instead, I find him with his eyes closed, one finger still held up in the air as he sways to the melody.
I sit and watch as he stays that way for the rest of the song, only opening his eyes when the final note has faded.
“I hope you don’t mind me telling you this,” he says, his expression dreamy, “but it’s a pleasure to hear something so beautiful, in the company of such a beautiful woman.”
I can’t stop the laugh that comes out of my mouth from sounding shrill. “That’s um, quite the compliment,” I stammer.
Before I can come up with anything else to say, the pianist starts on another song and Drew once again turns towards the sound, closing his eyes. I stare openly, not quite believing what I’m seeing as he continues to sit there ignoring me. I glance around the restaurant to make sure this isn’t some kind of show we’re supposed to be enjoying in silence, but everyone else is continuing their conversations as usual.