Bar Crawl(9)

Any time I managed to move my eyes to his face, I saw that he was rarely looking at his set. It was as if his hands told his eyes to take a break, and they took the lead. His eyes were constantly scanning the crowd, darting from one group of people to another. As he hit the climax of their opening number, his eyes landed squarely on mine, and that grin turned into a full smile, complete with a quick flick of his tongue ring before he put his head down and pounded out the rest of the song.

“Well, that does it,” Bradley shouted into my ear as the crowd cheered deafeningly loudly. “He’s a goner.”

As I clapped, I leaned my head toward his. “What do you mean?” I shouted.

“He likes you.” Bradley spoke in a middle school girl-style voice and batted his eyelashes.

“I’m not hi—”

Bradley put his hand up. “Fuck! Stop saying you’re not his type. He was right when he told you he didn’t have a type. That’s not always a bad thing. He likes pretty people.” He shrugged, as if that settled it.

As Last Call went headlong into their second song, I couldn’t help but look at the women around me. I was average size—smaller, if you look at national statistics—but it seemed the bar crowd was an anomaly. Through my eyes, it all looked like they wandered out of high school, leaving cheerleading practice before ordering a low carb beer. I liked the way I looked day-to-day. I had strong arms and legs, a flat stomach, and womanly curves. All of that turned into a funhouse distortion when I was out sometimes. I didn’t internalize this as a means to tear up my self-esteem, but it clouded how I viewed men, and their intentions.



All other men were temporarily free from my scrutiny as I set my sights on one man, and wondered just what in the hell his intentions were.





CJ





We ended the first half of our set with the smooth sounds of “Californication” by Red Hot Chili Peppers. I was grateful for the break. The drum beat is march-like and allowed me to practice my counting precision while giving me a slight break at the same time.

She came. I can’t f*cking believe she came.

Part of me assumed that our lunch together was the last time I’d get to see her one-on-one. She’d seemed awfully skeptical of me—and my intentions. Though, who could blame her? really? I don’t exactly have the most upstanding reputation. I’ve never tried to have one that’s different.

I like women. So sue me. They’re beautiful, intriguing, delicious, and, for God’s sake, could they smell any better? Jesus. It’s not always about the sex at the beginning, but I can’t help it if it ends up there.

Still, as I watched Frankie through the slow end of the song, I found myself caring exactly where we’d end up. And that freaked me the f*ck out.

“Thank you,” I said into the microphone. “Back in thirty. Someone buy me a drink!” I winked at the giggles of a string of bleached blondes in the front row. Though, on second glance, I rationalized that I shouldn’t let them buy me a drink since I questioned their legal drinking status. And, really, their legal adult status.

No one needs that headache.

Sliding my sticks into my back pocket, I gave quick nods and smiles to the girls in the front row who tugged playfully at my t-shirt. Shaking them off was hardly an issue as I kept my eyes on Frankie and her obviously gay friend. He was always as manicured as the lawns on Nantucket. Bradley, I think I’d heard her call him before.

“You came,” I said when I reached the bar.

As she tucked her hair behind her ears, I allowed myself a quick look over her entire body. She had on a fitted tank top with thin straps. Hot pink. Her skirt sat just above her knees, flared out slightly, and was black with tiny white polka dots. Every piece of fabric on her body intentionally hugged her skin in all the right places.

Sweet Jesus, those curves will be the death of me. Yes, please.

“You’re staring,” she murmured dryly. Thankfully, she was smiling.

I pulled out a playful grin as I accepted a Guinness from the bartender. “Can you blame me?”

Frankie rolled her eyes. But she blushed. Thank God. “You sounded great.”

Now it was my turn to blush, though I kept it pushed down. The thing was, I knew I was good. I’d spent my whole life playing and singing. But there’s something about when a girl knows it that catches your eye. When you realize you caught her ear…it must be what girls refer to as “butterflies.” I’d never say that. It’s just what they say.

Frankie’s friend was peering mischievously at me from behind her shoulder. I decided to head that off.

“Hey, man,” I extended my hand, “I’m CJ. What’s up?”

He arched his eyebrow, a surprised smile on his lips. “Bradley. Great lineup. Best decade for music. So much of everything rolled into ten tiny years, huh? Got any Alanis? That’s Frankie’s favorite.”

He laughed as Frankie smacked his arm. “Bradley!”

She seemed mortified, and I stifled a chuckle. “There’s nothing wrong with Alanis,” I conceded. “You just don’t strike me as so…angry.”

Frankie tilted her head and quirked the corner of her mouth. “And you don’t really seem like ‘The Road Not Taken’ type.”

Frost.

I’d been prepared to have her question me on the book I’d looked at when I found her at the library, but I hadn’t really prepared my response. I wouldn’t lie, but I couldn’t talk about it here.