Bar Crawl(24)

“‘Hey Jealousy,’” she interrupted.

“What? No, I’m not—”

“No.” She smiled and stood, walking to her iHome. “The things you just said are almost identical to the lyrics to ‘Hey Jealousy,’” by Gin Blossoms.” A few seconds later, the familiar tune was streaming through her house. “Did you do that on purpose?”

I chuckled. “No. I didn’t.”

“What?” she teased. “They’re good.”

I nodded. “You’re right. They are, but, what I’m trying—”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” She sighed and ran both hands through her hair. “You were trying to be serious and I got all…whatever the hell this is.” She dropped her hands into her lap and interlaced her fingers, taking a deep breath as she watched me.

I took a deep breath. “It’s clear we like each other, and it’s clear that we’re both nervous about it—for very different reasons. What I’m trying to do is plead my case a little. I know how it looks, but I wouldn’t sleep around on you. Anytime I’ve ever had an actual girlfriend, I haven’t slept around on them.”

Frankie put up her hands, looking defensive with wide eyes. “I’m not asking to be your girlfriend.”

I sighed. “I know. Ugh. I’m just saying that any time I have had girlfriends—”

“So that’s more of an in-between activity? The sleeping around?” Frankie’s sarcasm was thick and caused me to grin and feel regret at the same time.

“I guess.”

“Sorry,” she cut in. “I know you’re just out there having fun. I need to get off my judgy-wudgy soapbox.”

Judgy-wudgy? Even her made-up words were insanely cute.

“You’re right, though.” I reached out and touched her knee. “I’m ready for more. But that’s why I said that you shouldn’t expect too much from me…right away, at least. I’ll screw up. A lot. I don’t know how or when or why, but, it’s not in my nature to be anything but selfish. I…” I trailed off, wondering when this leaky valve of honesty would stop. It did feel good, though, so I kind of hoped it wouldn’t.

Frankie placed her hand on mine, moving her thumb down the length of one of my fingers. “I believe you. And I know that sounds absurd, given all the shit I give you, but…”

“But what?”

“A man doesn’t simply write a book in order to get in someone’s pants. Well, they might—I do know lots of Lit majors—but you? No. That’s not your style. And I’ve found that, in general, artists are either in touch with their emotions or running away from them.”

“Isn’t running a bad thing?” I huffed.

She shook her head, moving her hand to let her fingertips graze my jaw. “You’d think, but in reality it still shows you’re aware that you have emotions. Big ones. And you’re acting on them. Most people let the heavy swallow them. Or they ignore it. I figured you’d be in the latter, but I saw so much of you in that book, CJ, in different guys you wrote about, and even the girls. It’s like you not only watched them carefully, you fully put yourself in their shoes and created different realities for yourself.”

My chest pounded as Frankie dissected my brain. “I want to run from this conversation,” I admitted.

“Why do I scare you?” she asked, tilting her head to the side and scrunching her eyebrows as if it were absurd.

“Why do I scare you?” I retorted, though I assumed I knew where her fear came from.

Frankie sat back with a sardonic smile. “Well, even you had to open your speech a few minutes ago with the words, ‘I won’t sleep around.’ I’ve never seen you with the same girl twice, so when you started looking at me, I did all I could to look away. I didn’t want to be just another fun night for you. I didn’t even want a fun night with you because of all the other women I’d seen you with.”

“Just to clarify,” I cut in. “I don’t have sex with every girl I leave the bar with.”

She snorted. “Give me a percentage.”

I rolled my eyes and growled. “Maybe seventy-five? Stop judging me,” I sort of snapped.

“Oh, get over yourself. People judge each other. Period. That’s how we decide who we want to talk to, be friends with, have relationships with. We judge what we see and hear and piece it together.” She crossed her arms in front of her almost defiantly.

“But you called me a pig.” At this point I was spinning. I wanted to have more with Frankie, but seemed to keep bringing up all the shit she hated about me. I was fully Bar CJ and fully Writer CJ at the same time, and it was a mess. “You called me a pig without knowing how I treat those women who I leave the bar with. I respect women, Frankie. I respect the hell out of them. I’ve always been honest about my desire to remain single, and no one leaves my place wondering how I’m feeling.”

Frankie’s shoulders fell as she sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m the *. Frankly, if today was the only time I’d spent with you, I’d be the one pursuing you.”

“So why do I scare you, then?”

Frankie chewed on her lip for a moment before looking up at me through her eyelashes. “Because old habits die hard. I’m afraid you’ll end up hurting me. Sure, I believe it when you say you won’t go home with anyone else, but that’s not all that can hurt, you know. If I’m in a relationship with someone, I want their undivided attention. That’s different than constant attention—I’m not high maintenance.” Her cheeks took on a warm-looking flush and she looked back down.