“Sorry,” I tell her sincerely. I’ve never even thought about kids. With the bar, I don’t have the time, even if I wanted them.
“Don’t be. I just got the news, so I’m all flustered, but I will figure it out.”
“I can imagine.” No I can’t. But I think what I’m saying is comforting.
A few more guys and a couple come in and take me from her, but I keep my eye on her glass. I'm waiting for it to empty, so I have a reason to get back to her. The beer flows easily as the orders continue to come in. UGA is playing, and most of the bar is rooting for wins, which means Mickey buys the guys in the back a round of shots.
All the while Grace spins slightly on her stool and occasionally checks her phone. Mostly she just stares directly ahead of her at nothing in particular, a vacant look in her eyes and her lips turned down slightly. It gets busier and busier, but all I want is for her to call me over to her or finish that last bit of her drink.
I check with her a few times, but she waves me off with a small smile. Each time she’s just as welcoming and tempting as the last. But work calls, stealing me from her and leaving her alone in the bar. Every time I peek up, I see a sadness behind those big blue doe eyes that I don’t like seeing.
Time passes quickly and before I know it, she’s taking out her clutch and leaving cash on the bar. The second I see her put the money down, I stop pouring the draft beer in my hands and call out to her over the hum of loud voices.
“You need a ride?”
She smiles back at me and shakes her head no, but that happiness on her face makes it worth it.
I slide the beer down to the very end of the bar, forgetting which one of the two men sitting there ordered it, and walk over to check her out. I grab the cash and turn to go to the register, but she tells me to keep the change. She always does.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I tell her and watch as she spins in her seat.
“I bet you call all the ladies sweetheart,” she tells me playfully, but her words are a kick to my gut.
“Just you,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice chipper and not let on.
“Yeah, okay,” Grace says as she tries to get off the stool. She seems a little off balance, so I make my way around to her and I’m damn glad I did. She slips off the stool and nearly stumbles. I catch her in my arms and hold her upright as she struggles to slide her small foot back into her heel. Her hands are firm on my forearms until she’s got her balance back.
“I’m not tipsy, just these heels.” That beautiful blush rises up her chest and into her cheeks as she shakes her head. She tries to play it off, backing out of my embrace. Her lush ass hits the stool behind her, and her hands grip onto it to keep from knocking it over. I can’t help the rough chuckle from vibrating up my chest.
“You sure you don’t need a ride?” I ask Grace. I know she only had one drink. I know she doesn’t. That doesn’t change the fact that I want to give her a ride.
“No, I’m fine,” she says. There’s a small smile on her face I can tell she’s trying to fight.
“I don’t know if I believe you.” I tell her just to fuck with her. I love getting under her skin. “I wouldn’t mind taking you home.”
I give her a wink as I back away. Leaving her there, steady on her feet, I walk around the counter to get to unloading the boxes that fucking James was supposed to take care of. I look over my shoulder when she doesn’t respond and catch her staring at my ass… again. It takes her a second before she notices my eyes on her.
Her eyes widen slightly, those beautiful baby blues looking like she knows she got caught. A violent shade of red floods her cheeks as she shakes her head, pulling her hair to one side and starts walking backward.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she says playfully. But it’s that very thought that’s keeping her away from me. A woman like her, someone put together, with her life all figured out... She doesn’t date men like me.
“Have a good night, sweetheart,” I tell her one last time.
She waves shyly as she leaves me with nothing more than a “you too”.
Yeah, I’ve made some mistakes in the past. I have a reputation, and I’m sure as shit not looking for the same things she is.
But I wouldn’t mind knocking boots with my little sweetheart.
Grace
It’s 3 p.m., and I have a thousand things to do at work in only two hours. It’s not going to happen. That’s the bottom line. I push myself back from my desk in my rolling chair and sigh while looking around my cubicle. It’s littered with coffee mugs with motivational phrases, like, ‘I drink coffee and I get shit done’, notepads that have to do lists on them and pens. There are pens everywhere. In coffee cups, on top of to do lists and in the top drawer. Why? Because everyone takes my pens. Just like my mugs, they have cute things on them. My most recent set: keep your hands off my pens. I bought a six pack, I’m already down to four… I think… unless one is tucked in my purse or a drawer.
I’m in the advertising design department here at L. J. Scott & Co, which supposedly fulfills my need to create. The stack of ads, printed out on thick photography paper, at my right hand can attest to that.
I went to Rhode Island School of Design for marketing, with a minor in graphic design not realizing how much both subjects would challenge my creativity. I freaking love it. Eventually, I settled in at this graphic design job, choosing it over the other two offers because I like the work done here. It’s as simple as that. Day in and day out I get a different task and a different market to tap into.
All but one of the checkboxes on my list have been checked off, tick, tick, tick. Just the last one remains: find a hubby and make those babies.
“Hey! Drinks after work?” a chipper voice calls out from behind me. The pen in my hand lands on my desk when I jolt back to reality. The cat on my screen licking his chops is nearly just as startling. Nothing says, ‘your cat wants this kibble’ like an open mouthed cat ready to devour it.
I swivel my chair around and find Diane, leaning on the wall between our cubicles. She tilts her blonde head in a come-hither sort of way. She exudes sex appeal and often unbuttons her blouse a bit too low for client orientation which has led to more than a few rumors at the water cooler so to speak. AKA it’s how she wins a number of her jobs.
Diane started at the company at the same time as I did, and didn’t really give me much of a choice as to whether I would be her friend.
It was more that she assumed I wanted to go get drinks after work that first day, and I went along with it, why wouldn’t I? I soon found out why. She doesn’t really know limits and boundaries, not with men, not with alcohol and not with personal questions. She’s downright intrusive and cringe worthy when drunk, but I prefer that to sober Diane. Although in either state, she laughs a little too loud and right now I’m just not in the mood. I’m still processing everything from my doctor’s visit. Unfortunately, I have a bad habit of always saying yes. She’s not mean spirited, she’s not a bad person. She’s just… A LOT to take in. And since Ann is on leave for three months, I’ll admit I’m a tad bit lonely.
“Sure,” I answer, trying not to look at my desk, at the red blinking light on the phone that means I have messages. “That sounds good.” I close my eyes as soon as the words come out of my mouth. I didn’t even think about saying no.