Not that I want Gracie to get married to some chubby fuck who bores her. It’s more that I can envision this for myself too. I’ll be the balding, chubby fuck with a penchant for too many IPAs on the weekends. This is my biggest fear.
Mediocracy.
I want something more out of life. Something big. Something meaningful. I just don’t know what it is yet.
“You’re a dick,” she says, her upper lip curled into a sneer. “What’s so wrong in finding comfort in the mundane, huh? So what if my husband is balding and has a slight paunch?”
“Gracie.” I lean across the table, staring into her eyes. I wish I could figure out what color they are exactly. Right now, they burn a bright golden brown. “You talk about him as if he already exists. I made that guy up.”
“I know you did,” she says. “But you make it sound so awful, when it’s really not, Caleb. Steadiness can be a good thing.”
“Or a boring thing. And you’re anything but boring, G.”
We’re quiet as we continue eating, and I can tell she’s thinking about something. The server stops by with her fresh margarita and she grabs for it eagerly, taking a healthy sip. She finishes one taco then starts on another one. I polish everything on my plate, not a crumb left behind.
Still, she doesn’t speak. Neither do I.
I’m waiting her out. Plus, I’m tired. With food in my belly, I’m ready to go home, take a shower, and crash.
“You really think I’m anything but boring?” she finally asks, her voice soft, her eyes not blazing as brightly as they were only a moment before.
I realize this could be the moment of no return. A shift in our relationship. I could say the right thing, and next thing you know, she’s all over me. It would be so easy. We’d go at it, and I’d give her an epic orgasm. She’d probably make me come hard too. It’s been a while since I’ve been with a chick. Longer than usual for me. I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance to go find a random to mess around with.
Plus, the idea of that isn’t appealing, which is scary and weird, but I don’t have time to worry about that right now.
“I definitely think that,” I say, keeping it simple. I could’ve added some flowery words or a crude innuendo. Instead, I treat her like a friend. I give her respect.
Something I can admit, I’ve lacked when it comes to females.
Her smile is small, yet brilliant. Stunning. She is beautiful. A little crazy, let’s be real. Constantly chasing after guys. Chasing after everything she wants. I like that about her. She’s bold. Unafraid.
“Every time I think you’re completely hopeless, you go and say something sweet or endearing, and you make me change my mind,” she murmurs.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I’m trying to tell you that I think you have potential, Caleb,” she says, that smile still on her face. “You can be so much more.”
“More than what?”
“More than you give yourself credit for.”
Six
Gracie
I’m drunk.
Not falling down sloppy drunk. And not seeing double, unfocused drunk either. Though, would it be such a bad thing, seeing double of Caleb? No, that wouldn’t suck. It wouldn’t suck at all. He’s so pretty.
But I am buzzing pretty hard. I feel loose. As in loose in my limbs, my muscles. My tongue. I want to say things. I want to tell Caleb I think he’s pretty. Would he be offended? Probably. Boys don’t want to be called pretty. They’re too manly for such a feminine word.
We’re still at the restaurant, our plates long gone, a half-full basket of chips in between us, Caleb still dunking the occasional one in salsa and munching on it. Like a bad habit he can’t quit.
Hmm, that’s an interesting analogy. I should think of Caleb like that. He’s a bad habit I can’t quit. I don’t want to quit him. Arguing with him is stimulating. He gets my juices flowing, and I like it. I like him.
I frown. No, I don’t like him. I don’t. He’s annoying. He’s also a complete player who couldn’t be serious with a woman even if someone held a gun to his head and told him he had to be. I bet he’d mess it up somehow and bam, he’d be dead.
God, my thoughts are morbid when I’ve had a little too much to drink. I need to stop. I need to go to bed and wake up sober. Banish these Caleb-filled thoughts of mine.
“I’m tired,” he says as he polishes off his third giant glass of iced tea. “You ready to leave?”
I slurp up the dregs of my margarita, longing for another one. Knowing I can’t have anymore or else I’ll be full-blown drunk. Sloppy. Unfocused.
“Sure,” I say with a small hiccup, blinking him back into focus. No double Calebs in front of me. Such a bummer. He’s so cute. And hot. Look at his shoulders. At his arms. At his broad chest and square jaw and thick hair and blue eyes with the long, thick lashes.
What is wrong with me? I get some tequila in my system and suddenly I’m hot for Caleb?
Oh, let’s be real, shall we. You’ve been hot for Caleb since that first time you met him at Strummers and thought he was a complete dickwad.
I shove that know-it-all little voice inside my head to the far corner of my brain and tell it to shut up.
I slide out of the booth, wobbly on my feet, and Caleb is right behind me, grabbing hold of my arm and keeping me steady. I send him a grateful smile and he basically leads me out of the restaurant, his hold tight the entire time. I notice all the women who swivel their heads with their admiring gazes as he walks by, and I feel stupidly proud to be seen with him.
See? I can snag this pretty boy and you can’t, is what I want to tell them. Which is rude, I know this, but I can’t help it.
And I really didn’t snag him. He’s not mine to snag. I need to calm down.
We approach his car and he holds the door open for me, making sure I get inside in one piece. “I told you, you shouldn’t have had that second margarita,” he says, sounding like a scolding parent.
“Sorry, dad,” I say, my head lolling against the seat.
His lips form a thin line and he slams the passenger door shut before he rounds the car and gets into the driver’s seat. I quietly watch him as he starts the engine and backs the car out of the space. I continue watching as he guns it through the parking lot, driving like a madman, his focus one hundred percent on the road, never straying toward me.
I can’t stop watching, my mouth going dry, my imagination going haywire. There are so many things I would do to this man if given the chance.
“You’re pretty,” I blurt.
He glances over at me, frowning. “What did you just say?”
“I think you’re pretty.” I pronounce each word slowly, making sure he heard me. “Your face.”
He actually grins. “My face?”
I nod enthusiastically. “Everything about you, really.”
“Are you complimenting me, Gracie?”
“I am. You’re pretty and you know it.” A sigh leaves me and I turn to stare out the window as the buildings pass by. “Too bad you ruin it all by opening your mouth.”
“How do I ruin it when I open my mouth? Most girls like it when I do that,” he says with a naughty smile.