by Kelly, Hazel
There was also something undeniably magnetic about his unassuming confidence, which was probably a side effect of his musicianship. It wasn’t something I picked up playing flute in my high school marching band, unfortunately, but there was no refuting that he was comfortable in his skin in a way I envied.
What would it be like, I wondered, to live like he did? Playing music. Drinking beer. Could he possibly be as casual in real life as he seemed right now? I wondered if he had greater ambitions than playing music in his friend’s pub, or if he was happy to strum and sip and dote on his dog. It seemed too personal a question, though, and he’d already caught me staring at him once.
“So,” I asked. “Making any resolutions for next year?”
He looked at me like I’d asked if he enjoyed sliced mango on his pizza. “I don’t believe in that crap.”
“What? Self-improvement?”
“No. Self-improvement, I get,” he said. “It’s the Gregorian calendar I don’t respect.”
My eyes popped wide.
“If I need to make a change in my life, I make a change. Period.”
“How disciplined of you.” I took a sip of my Scotch, my silver bracelets falling down my arm.
“No offense, if you’re into that kind of thing.” His blue eyes dropped to my lips when I licked them. “What about you?”
I don’t know if I felt bold because of the Scotch or because I knew I’d never see this guy again. Or maybe it was the fact that he seemed so non-judgmental I was tempted to try and shock him. Whatever provoked me, my mother would’ve fainted if she’d heard what came out of my mouth next. “My goal is to find someone suitable to knock me up.”
He choked on his beer and brought a hand to his mouth, coughing against his fist.
I smiled, pleased with myself for being so unpredictable.
He angled towards me. “Define ‘suitable’?”
I scowled at him, but I was secretly flattered by the question.
“Seriously.”
“You don’t want to know,” I said, dismissing his interest with a flick of my wrist.
“Sure, I do.” Amusement buoyed his expression. “Or I wouldn’t have asked.”
I looked in his eyes until I felt a pinch between my legs.
“What if you say you’re looking for a gifted musician who hates people and loves stargazing?”
“You love stargazing?”
“Oh, I wasn’t talking about me,” he said. “I was thinking of another guy I know.”
I rolled my eyes.
“But it means a lot that you think I’m a gifted musician.”
I shook my head, forgetting for a moment that I was supposed to be feeling sorry for myself.
“So, your dream guy. Describe him to me.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“That’s the beauty of it,” he said, turning his palms towards the ceiling. “You can be totally honest.”
I stuck out my bottom lip. “Fair point.”
“Come on,” he said. “I’m dying to know. Just for fun. I’d never try to woo a girl like you, anyway.”
I cocked my head.
“Too capable,” he said, answering my unspoken question.
I sighed. “Fine.” It’s not like it was a hard question. I spent a year looking at sperm donor profiles before I met Kurt, thinking of little else apart from what qualities I admired. “I guess flossing is a big one.”
He nearly fell back from shock. “Flossing?! That’s your number one criteria?!”
“It’s less about the flossing and more about ruling out the kind of people who don’t floss.”
“I see,” he said, making a face like I’d surprised him again. “What else?”
“Having a good job is important.”
“Define ‘good’?”
I shrugged. “Something you don’t hate, with decent compensation.”
“The guy sounds like a hoot so far. No question your kid’s going to grow up to be a comedian.”
“Very funny,” I said. “And I wouldn’t want my kid to grow up to be a comedian, anyway. So few make it. I’d want my kid to do something safer.”
“You mean something that involves a desk and a pension?”
“Ideally.”
His lips formed a straight line like he was trying not to laugh at me.
“What?” I asked. “Why are you making that face?”
He pointed at his wry smile. “This? This is my listening face.”
“Well it’s a bit smug.”
“Please,” he said. “Continue.”
“Someone without a smug listening face.”
He laughed. “Nice. I love that you’re updating the list in real time.”
I was starting to feel a little embarrassed. I mean, I’d been honest so far, but this guy must’ve thought I sounded like such a square. It was too late to backpedal, though, so I figured I’d hammer one last damning nail in the coffin. “Bonus points if his dream girl is a workaholic homebody.”
I expected him to laugh in my face, but instead, his eyes softened, and he looked at me like he was really seeing me for the first time. I wasn’t sure I liked it. It wasn’t an unkind expression. If anything, it was the opposite, but it made me feel vulnerable and delicate, which was the last thing I wanted. I turned back to my drink, my thoughts feeling a little fuzzy at the edges.
“Can I be honest with you?”
I offered him a sideways glance. “Can I stop you?”
“I think you’re destined to have a comedian.”
My eyes shrank with disapproval.
“It mightn’t be your firstborn, but there’s going to be one in the family. Mark my words.”
I pulled back. “What makes you think I want more than one kid?”
“A capable woman like you?” he asked. “Surely you’d relish the challenge.”
“Perhaps,” I said, wondering how many vials of sperm I'd have to buy. One vial alone would cost a thousand dollars, but there was no guarantee the first would take.
“Besides, whenever your prince charming rocks up in his pre-owned four door with the good safety rating—”
“Hilarious.”
“Something tells me he’ll want to knock you up more than once.”
“What makes you say that?”
His eyes fell down my little black dress before lifting back to mine. “Because I would.”
My stomach tightened.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he said. “You and I both know you’re not the one-night stand type.”
“Is that a type you’re familiar with?”
He scoffed. “What kind of musician do you take me for?”
E I G H T
- Finn -
“So what type am I?” she asked, her brown eyes narrowing on me.
“I’m sure I don’t know you well enough to say.”
“And you? Are you the classic love ’em and leave ’em musician type?”
I let my head fall to one side and gave her my most dashing smile. “I’m whatever type you want me to be, baby.”
She groaned. “I walked right into that.”
I liked her. She was funny. Extremely Type A, but maybe she’d relax a bit if she let her hair down. I hadn’t seen a ponytail that tight since Becca Marsh gave me my first blowjob. Maybe that’s why I found this woman so intriguing. Maybe it had nothing to do with the way she drank Scotch or the way her sassy eyes sparkled like she was the smartest person in the room.
“I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before,” she said, turning her crossed legs towards me.
“I get that a lot,” I shook my beer in the air so Brian would know I was ready for round two. Or three, if you count the one I had during the show.
“I’m obviously mistaken because you don’t recognize me.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
Her brows rose to attention.
“I think we m
ay have met once upon a dream.”
Her curious expression soured. “I appreciate you making an effort to flirt with me since I just got dumped, but you really needn’t bother.”
“It’s no trouble,” I said, nodding at Brian as he set a fresh beer down in front of me. “On the contrary, it’s my pleasure. When you’re a gifted musician like myself—your words, not mine—it gets tedious batting off the excessive female attention.”
“Wow.”
“So it’s a thrill to converse with someone who’s more of a challenge.” I turned towards her, leaning one arm on the bar. “Trouble is, I can’t decide if you’re as genuinely uninterested in me as you pretend or if you’re just playing hard to get.”
“I’m not playing anything.”
“Everyone’s playing something.”
She blinked at me. “I should be going.”
“If you say so.”
She swallowed.
"I’d never suggest you’re not capable of making that decision on your own.”
“You’re making me regret telling you that.”
“I hope not,” I said, fixing my eyes on hers. “I don’t regret a second I’ve spent talking to you.”
“Look—”
“Finn,” I said, filling in the blank.
“Right. Finn.”
“You don’t have to mull it over like that. It’s not Chinese.”
“I know, but—”
“And you don’t have to find some nice way to let me down easy. I’m not going to try and take you home.” Something flashed in her eyes, and I hoped it was disappointment, but I couldn’t be sure. “The last thing you need right now is to wake up next to some guy with perfect chest hair and fingers that could play you into a puddle.”
“Perfect chest hair?”
I shrugged. “It’s a thing, apparently. I’ve been told.”
“How nice for you.”
“Besides, I’m sure you’re quite capable of satisfying your own needs.”
“Would you drop it?” she said. “I’m not that capable.”
“I’m still not going home with you. Sorry.”
Her mouth fell open with a gasp. “That is not what I meant. I never—”
“I’m joking,” I said. “Chill out. All I meant is that I’m not about to take advantage of you when you’re vulnerable.”
“I’m not vulnerable.”
“You would be in my bed.”
Her eyes widened, but she regained her composure quickly. “Are you sure we haven’t met before?”
“I’m sure.”
She shook her head. “You look so familiar. I’m worried I saw you on America’s Most Wanted or something.”
I squinted at her. “For real?”
“How should I know?” she asked. “You could be hiding in plain sight, asking your buddy to slip something in my drink. Next thing I know, I wake up in a dumpster somewhere in six parts.”
“Jesus Christ.” I faced forward again. “If I didn’t believe you before, I do now.”
“About what?”
“Not playing hard to get.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to suggest you were a serial killer, but no one is really named Finn.”
“Ask Brian.”
“Brian could be in on it.”
I threw my eyes to the tinsel overhead. “Ask anyone in this bar. Literally anyone.”
“Fine,” she said. “I believe you.”
“That was easy.”
“Have they all seen your chest hair, too?”
“Just because I play guitar doesn’t mean I’m easy.”
“Hey,” she said, lifting her palms. “I’m not here to judge.”
“What are you here to do?”
Her eyes strayed towards her drink, and her hand followed. “Feel sorry for myself.”
“How’s that going?”
“It was going alright before you sat down.”
I bit back a smile. “What’s your name?”
She studied my face. “Maeve.”
I laughed. “Equally made up. No wonder you didn’t believe me.”
“It’s not made up.”
“All names are made up.”
Her lips curled, lifting her pretty cheekbones.
“Well, for what it’s worth, Maeve. He doesn’t deserve you.”
Her eyes sobered for a moment.
“And I think he probably let you go because he knows that, not because you’re an overly capable workaholic homebody.”
She chewed her lip. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, angling back towards my drink. “It’s a shame, though.”
Her brows drew close. “What is?”
“Letting a perfectly good New Year’s kiss go to waste.” I watched her long neck flinch with her swallow.
“At least I didn’t waste it on him.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I said, lifting my beer.
She took the last sip of her Scotch, licked her lips, and set her glass down.
I sensed she was about to leave, and I was so disappointed the only thing to do was act like I didn’t care.
“It’s been nice talking to you, Finn.” She stood and plucked her coat off the hook under the bar.
“I changed my mind,” I said. “Think I will make a resolution.”
“Oh?” She slipped her arm in one sleeve and then the other.
“I’m going to get your number.”
Her lips tugged towards a smile. “And how do you expect to do that?”
“Well, most guys would just ask.” I stood off my stool and looked down at her. She was only a few inches shorter than me in her heels, and I felt my adrenaline surge at her proximity. “But I’m not most guys.”
“No,” she said, blinking up at me. “I suppose you’re not.”
I lowered my face, letting my short scruff graze her cheek as I brought my lips to her ear. “Happy New Year, Maeve. I’ll save my New Year’s kiss for you.” I leaned back slowly, imagining what might happen if she stayed a little longer, what might happen if she let me taste the Scotch on her lips.
“Happy New Year, Finn,” she whispered, her eyes searching mine.
And I swear to God when she whispered my name like that, I knew it hadn’t been a line. That kiss was hers, whether she ever claimed it or not.
And as I watched her leave, she took all my hopes for the night with her.
But she left something, too.
A teal, cashmere scarf with a tag that said Made in London.
N I N E
- Maeve -
The frigid air sobered me as soon as I stepped outside, and my arm shot up at the sight of the first taxi. Three taxis later I got lucky, carefully stepping off the frosty curb and into my awaiting chariot.
“Where would you like to go, ma’am?” the Indian driver sang, enunciating every syllable.
I gave him the address of my building, and he confirmed he knew it before turning up the Bollywood music he must’ve been rocking out to before he pulled over. Normally, I hated when drivers forced their musical tastes on me (almost as much as I hated being called “ma’am”), but his words and music bounced off me like the insignificant stimulus they were.
After all, I was distracted by more important matters. Like the warm tingle in my cheek where Finn’s face had grazed mine just enough to give me goosebumps. It was such a small gesture, but I hadn’t expected him to lean into my personal space, much less smell so good and make me feel so…was edible the right word?
It seemed crazy, but that’s how I felt dwarfed in the crook of his neck, my nose filled with his peppery scent. Like a morsel. Like a crumb he could’ve licked into his mouth in one fell swoop. It seemed silly that my body could be so easily swept away by something as simple as the scratch of his stubble, but when his breath warmed my ear, I felt it in all the most unexpected places.
And when he
said he’d save a kiss for me…
I mean, it was obviously a line, but it made my lower body clench and boil just the same, as if the promise of his kiss was inevitable. Unable to stop myself from entertaining the fantasy, I imagined what it would be like to let him kiss me, to let him touch me, his large, deft fingers sculpting over my willing, eager body. It wasn’t long before I decided to park the fantasy there and save the rest for the private party waiting for me at home, which I was actually looking forward to now that I’d been cheered by the words of a handsome stranger.
Granted, part of me wished I was the kind of girl that tempted adventures like the one I might’ve had with him if I’d stayed. But I wasn’t. I was the kind of girl that put my ass in a cab when my pleasant buzz threatened to become a liability. And I wasn’t about to change my stripes when I was feeling especially sad and Scotch-filled.
But that was for the best in this case, right? Staying would’ve only ruined things. As it stood, he’d been a perfect gentleman. His flirtation took the sting out of my untimely and unceremonious dumping, and he’d checked me out just enough to make me feel pretty and desirable when I felt anything but.
The only reason we met was because the universe obviously sensed that I needed a sign everything was going to be okay, and it must’ve known only something as unexpected as a blue-eyed guitarist with shovels for hands would be able to drag me from my pity party. And it worked. And now I was feeling optimistic about returning home to my Kurt-free apartment instead of punished, like I felt after I devoured those oversized cupcakes on the sidewalk in the cold.
Still, I liked the idea that there might be an alternative universe where I had the guts to stay and have another drink with him. I could’ve asked him what kind of dog he had and how long he’d been playing the guitar. Maybe I would’ve discovered why he was on his own tonight, which was the question I was most curious about.
He seemed like such a catch. Easy going. Nonjudgmental. In hindsight, he seemed like all the things I wasn’t. And yet we’d had such a pleasant conversation. He didn’t even freak out after I confessed to being a workaholic homebody with baby fever. Then again, maybe our obvious incompatibility was why we got along so well, why we both felt so relaxed.