Bar Crawl(6)

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked as I carefully made my way down the stairs.

“You said you’d meet me for lunch.” He had sunglasses on, but the tone of his voice revealed all of this playful mischief.

I cocked my head to the side. “And you said next week.”

He shrugged and gave me a Cheshire Cat-like grin. “I was late last time. Now I’m early.”





CJ




I kept my eyes on Frankie’s face as we sat across from each other, waiting for our orders to be called. I knew she’d expect me to be looking anywhere else, and I expected that of myself, too. But she’d turned me down twice already, and I wanted to avoid having lunch thrown in my face as she screamed “Pig!” if she caught me looking at her curves. I’ve had enough of girls’ lunches on my clothes for one lifetime.

The bitch of it was she did have some banging curves. Those hips were a siren’s call for my hands, but there was more to her than that. Much more. When I’d tried to put the moves on her in a bar in Falmouth a couple of months before, it was like she didn’t take me seriously—the way she sarcastically said “Okay” before rolling her eyes and returning to conversation with her friends. I knew I’d try again, but I had to bide my time.

“So,” Frankie said somewhat impatiently, “what’s up?”

I realized that, while I hadn’t been staring at her body, I’d been staring at her face for what must have been an uncomfortably long time.

“What’s your deal?” I chuckled and leaned back in my chair.

“My deal?” She scrunched her forehead, causing her freckles to fold in on each other. “You stalked me on the internet, tracked me down at my weekend job, and dragged me to lunch to ask why my deal is?”

The freckles scattered across her cheeks were soon highlighted red as she seemingly grew flustered. I grinned. I couldn’t help myself.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded softly.

I shrugged. “Look, I just thought it would be nice to get to know you…”

“Ha!” Her laugh was so sharp and loud, it caused the people next to us to look up from whatever they were doing. “Get to know me, that’s rich.”

I pressed my forearms into the table and leaned forward. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She echoed my stance, challenging me as she encroached on my space. “I mean,” she whispered, “it seems that all you’re interested in getting to know about women is how their breasts feel in your hands.”

I bit the inside of my cheek as she seemed to have read my most intimate thoughts word for word. “Well, look at you, making assumptions.” I swallowed hard, wondering how many times she’d watched me at different bars before I’d noticed her. Once or twice and I might be okay. More than four and I’d be screwed.

Frankie tilted her head, the light catching some red highlights streaked through her brown hair. “So…you don’t comb the bar after your sets looking for your next date?” She put air quotes around the word “date.”

Before I could answer, the pimple-faced teenager behind the meat case called our order. We both rose, neither offering to get the other’s food. Once we were seated again, I studied the food in front of her: An enormous salad filled with beans, a crumbled cheese, and nearly every vegetable imaginable.

“Problem?” she asked, gesturing to her plate.

“Don’t you want salad dressing?” I was used to watching girls methodically dip their forks into the little dishes of dressing before plunging it into the leaves.

Frankie stuck a fork full of garden in my face. “It’s on it already. See?”

She hadn’t asked for the dressing on the side. It seems so insignificant, and I’m aware of that, but that one choice said more about her than anything else I’d seen anyone do on a date. It told me she really didn’t seem to give a shit what I thought. I liked that, and it scared me.

I cleared my throat. “I’m just used to everyone ordering the dressing on the side when I’m on dates. What the hell is that all about, anyway?”

She shrugged and chewed slowly, her glossed hips curving around her food. “Calories, I guess,” she admitted once she swallowed. “And, this isn’t a date.” She winked and resumed her meal

“We’re eating food together, aren’t we?” I challenged.

She didn’t look up as she picked through her salad. “Sure, but I eat with my coworkers every day, and I don’t consider those dates.”

I sighed. “Sure, but I don’t typically eat meals with women.”

Frankie looked up, a horrified and amused look on her face. “Well, lucky me, then. You should brush up on what a date is, though. Don’t stalk the person at work, for one. And, it’s typically nice to offer to pay for the meal.”

I chuckled. “Would you have let me pay for your meal?”

“Nope.” She smiled and put a forkful of salad in her mouth.

Her quick wit excited me, and proved I needed to be on my toes if I was going to make it through even one date—or non-date—with her.

“You didn’t answer my question, about your bar activities,” Frankie said after a few more minutes of silence.