“We got you,” Banner says. “Our treat.”
“Well then, don’t mind if I do.” Myla sweeps her hand in front of her. “Lead the way, kind sirs.”
Banner hops off his chair and nods toward the stairs at me, indicating that I’m a part of this too. Grumbling to myself, I take my pint glass in my beer-covered hand and follow them up the stairs to the dining area of the bar, which I wouldn’t really call a dining area. Booths are lined along the perimeter while high-top tables fill in the middle. It’s shrouded with people decked out in costumes—a few superheroes, sexy devils, sexy maids, sexy just insert a noun here, and a dedication to the costume T-Rex in the far corner—leaving me looking like the odd one out.
“Find a seat if you can,” the hostess says as we approach. “We’re pretty cramped.”
I glance around the crowded space, my irritation already revving from having to be here, but now that we’re in a spot where people are elbow to elbow, I want nothing more than to go home.
“Oh look, there’s a table for two over there in the corner,” Banner says.
“And one to the right,” Nichole adds.
Silence falls between us, and I know what’s going to happen next. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the math.
“So, uh, why don’t you take Maya to the right?” Banner starts.
“It’s Myla,” she says. “But I won’t hold it against you.”
“Shit, sorry.”
“No offense taken. I know how this goes. You’ll dine with my friend here, work up the sexual tension until you can’t take it anymore, and probably meet up in the bathroom for release while I get wined and dined by your cranky brother who doesn’t know how to properly stock the cabinets with snacks. Not a problem.” And with that, she loops her arm through mine and drags me toward the table to the right while saying over her shoulder, “Let me know when you’re done.”
When we reach the table, Myla releases my arm to sit at the two-person high-top table. Completely unsure how I got into this situation—it happened so fast—I take a seat across from her, where I get a straight shot down her cleavage.
Jesus.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to break the bank for you.” She grabs one of the menus resting between the salt and pepper shaker and scans it. “I might just order some broccoli. Do you like broccoli? I can order two sides of it. Hmm, I wonder if they have peanut butter. Have you ever tried peanut butter on your broccoli before? It might sound gross, but it’s actually quite good.”
“Uh, no. I haven’t.”
“I would like to say that I’m shocked, but given your barren kitchen and confession to not investing in snacks, I’m not shocked at all.”
I pluck a menu for myself. “You know, you don’t have to do this. I have no problem eating alone or just leaving, for that matter.”
“And what, leave me here to fend for myself?” She shakes her head. “No way.”
“I’m sure any man in this bar would be more than happy to offer you a free meal.”
“Yeah, but that free meal comes with strings attached. At least with you, I know you’re doing this for your brother, and you’ll cash in on a favor from him later down the road. Therefore, it’s your brother who owes you, not me.” She looks up from her menu and offers me a large smile. “See how that works?”
Oddly, yes.
I turn back to the menu and browse the selection. Nothing speaks to me other than the family-sized nachos, so I ask Myla, “Do you want to split the nachos with me?”
“Hmm.” She taps her chin. “You know, I think I could eat some nachos right now. But we’ll need extra jalapeños because I like it spicy.”
“Fine.” I slip the menu back into its spot and then lean my arms on the table, trying to look anywhere but at her breasts . . . or her lips.
“Why aren’t you dressed up?” she asks, her eyes scanning me so intensely that I nearly feel naked.
“Not really someone who dresses up.”
“Ah, I see. You’re too cool for it.”
“No, I just don’t see the point in dressing up.”
“The point is to draw attention,” she says. “For instance, do you really think I would be earning myself a free meal tonight if my friend and I weren’t showing off an ungodly amount of cleavage? Probably not. We would have been looked over for some other sexy nurse costume. But, because we are trying to suckle at the teat of our early twenties and use the lack of gravitational pull on our breasts, we decided to dress up. Look where it’s gotten us. Nichole will get another great orgasm from your brother, and I get to sit here with you—albeit less than ideal company—and get a free meal out of it.”
Who the hell is this girl? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who truly lived their life by the motto, “I give zero fucks.”
“Hey, sorry about the wait,” our server says as she stands next to our table. She glances at Myla and says, “Oh damn, girl, your boobs look amazing.”
Myla grips them and then does this side-by-side shuffle with them that has my eyes nearly bugging out. “Thank you,” she says. “Can you believe I got this bra at Target?”
“No way.”
“Yup.” She tucks her loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Best purchase I’ve made in a while. And I’m already getting my money’s worth with a free meal from this guy.” She thumbs toward me.
“She’s not getting a free meal because of the bra,” I defend, not wanting to come off as a creep.
“Keep telling yourself that.” The server winks, then asks, “What can I get you two?”
“We’re going to get the nachos. I was going to get broccoli, but since I’m not paying, I don’t want to press my luck, you know? And water is good for me. I’m sure my grumpy friend across the table will need another beer to get him through the night. And from the looks of it, your IPA is on tap. Am I right?”
“Yes,” I answer, hating that she can peg me so well.
“Great. I’ll be back with drinks and food.”
When the server is out of earshot, I say, “It wasn’t the boobs.”
“Yes, I know, but you’re not complaining about them, are you?”
Not really. Not sure any red-blooded, straight male would complain about them.
She takes a napkin and blots at them. Not sure why, but I shamelessly watch her.
Has it really been that long since I’ve been with someone? Yeah . . . it has been. Spring training ate up most of my time, and when I wasn’t called up to the Majors this season, I’ve been working even harder in the weight room and batting cages so that when I do get a chance, I’m ready.
I couldn’t even tell you the last pair of tits I saw.
The server plops our drinks on the table and takes off again without a word. Myla reaches into her shirt to the right and pulls out her phone. Jesus, that was there the whole time? I was too distracted by the cleavage that I didn’t even notice.
She holds her phone in front of her drink, and I watch her take a picture.
“Is that for your Instagram?”