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“Can we get two beers, please? Whatever you have on draft is fine.” Adam’s jovial tone is met with an awkward chuckle as TJ’s eyes dart back and forth between us. I glare at him in what I hope is a ‘don’t be a jerk’ expression, but TJ doesn’t seem to pick up on it.
His eyes twinkle with amusement as he says, “does this dude even know you, Char?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, though, just slings his bar towel over his shoulder and walks off.
Adam, smile completely gone now, looks at me and says, “I take it you’re a regular here?” Is that judgement I’m hearing in his tone? I shake the thought off as soon as it comes because there’s no way. I must be imagining things.
“Oh, yeah. I actually know the owner. Millie, remember me telling you about her?” I wait for his nod before I continue, “well her brother owns the place. Well, actually both of her brothers own it, but Cash is the one who runs it. Her other brother, Emmett, is more of a silent partner. He’s in a branch of the military, I think, so he’s only ever here on leave.”
He gives a stiff nod and then turns to survey the bar, his features twisted in distaste. I look around too, trying to see what it is that he clearly finds so appalling. It’s rustic themed, with white-washed brick walls and wooden accents. The bar itself is a large, polished slab of mahogany that runs along an entire wall with black leather barstools tucked all along it. A few dozen tables that can seat two to four people each are spread sporadically throughout the room with a small stage taking up the far wall and just enough space in front of it to be optimistically called a dance floor. The stage is empty tonight, though. It doesn’t look like they have a live band scheduled for this random Thursday evening. The dance floor is empty, it’s still pretty early, but the country western music being piped through the speaker system has many patrons swaying back and forth to the beat as they chat with friends, sip their preferred beverages, and just enjoy the relaxed atmosphere that The Whiskey Lounge provides. I don’t see anything that should cause the sneer on Adam’s face, but I guess maybe a country western bar wasn’t the best place to bring an uptight corporate lawyer. He probably prefers something more upscale. No, I’m probably just reading too much into the situation. Seeing things that aren’t there because of my most recent pattern of bad dates.
TJ’s back with our drinks before I can think of what to say, and Adam still hasn’t said much since finding out I’m a regular here. He’s looking at me like he’s just eaten something sour and wasn’t expecting it. Great, I had somehow messed up and I had no idea how.
Grabbing the martini—dirty with three olives, my favorite — I sling it back, feeling the burn of alcohol trail down my throat. I’m not much of a drinker. Actually, I rarely drink more than one or two martinis, and I never throw them back like this, but it seems like a really good idea right now. “Thanks,” I say as I lower my now empty glass to the table. TJ still looks amused, and I shoot a glare at him. I’m glad he’s enjoying himself. So much for being relieved to see a friendly face. TJ looks unphased by my glare as he flips his shaggy hair out of his eyes and pushes Adam’s beer across the counter to him.
“Can I get you folks anything else?” TJ’s customer service voice really needs some work. Normally TJ is one of my favorite people to see here, his charm and charisma combined with his boyish good looks make him a good bartender and an even better friend, but tonight, he’s having entirely too much fun at my expense.
“Just keep mine coming, TJ,” I say, handing him my depleted glass and daring him to comment. Thankfully, for once, TJ just nods and walks off to mix my drink. I barely get a moment’s relief at the realization that TJ isn’t going to keep teasing me before Adam’s hand lands on my thigh.
I look over at him in surprise. This entire evening the closest he’s gotten to me was on the walk over here and only because I nearly walked into him. I give him a tentative smile, maybe there’s some life in the ice man after all. And with one martini down, I’m feeling much more confident.
That is until he opens his mouth to speak. “Who is that guy?” The hard edge to his voice startles me. Is he jealous?
Suddenly his hand on my thigh doesn’t feel like a step in the right direction. It feels possessive. But no, I tell myself, that’s not possible. We just met. He wouldn’t be jealous about anything. I'm probably just misreading him. Even so, I turn my body toward the bar and tuck my legs underneath to discreetly remove his hand. “Who? TJ?” I ask, smiling at the absurd thought that this man I don’t know could ever be jealous of TJ of all people. When Adam’s unsmiling face doesn’t relax, I rush to explain myself. “TJ’s a friend. More like a brother, really. He just likes to give me a hard time.”
This answer seems to satisfy Adam as he nods and takes a swig of beer. As for me, I grab the newly deposited martini and gulp down half of it in one drink. A sense of foreboding settles over me and I can’t help but think I’m about to add another disaster date to my repertoire. Forcing myself to set the drink down and pace myself, I try to steer the conversation to a safer topic. “So, Adam! What is your hidden talent? Tell me something interesting about you that no one else knows.” My smile is genuine, and I even twist on my stool so our knees brush together. This is my favorite first date question. I have an entire list of ‘must-have’ questions for any first date, but this one always collects the most interesting answers.
He laughs dryly, his pearly white smile flashing as he says, “Um, well, I’m not really prepared for that question. I might have to give that some thought.” But he doesn’t think about it at all, just blurts out an answer. “Actually, I’m pretty good at golf. I’m not sure it counts as a hidden talent, but I do love it. You?”
I try to hide my disappointment at his answer. I’m not sure what answer I’m looking for from my prince, but I don’t think it’s golf. Postponing my response and forgetting all about my plan to pace myself, I grab my drink and finish the rest of it in one fell swoop. My eyes burn a bit at the sting, I’m really not used to drinking this much this quickly, but I blink it back and choke the fiery liquid down. “Th-that’s great, Adam,” I say, and if he notices me coughing, he’s polite enough not to mention it.
Overall, my impression of Adam thus far is ‘meh’. Even this far into the date, I’m not feeling any chemistry. He’s fine, somewhat dull, but not someone that would ever blow my mind. I murmur a ‘thank you’ to TJ at the appearance of yet another martini. I should decline it; I know I should. Especially as the warming feeling in my stomach begins to spread through the rest of my body. I’m feeling good now, but I will not be tomorrow if I don’t slow down.
But because I’ve never really been known for stellar decision-making skills in life, I grab ahold of the glass as if it were my lifeline. I’ll drink this one, but I’ll drink it at a reasonable pace. With the other two glasses already making my inner monologue fuzzy, my logic seems sound, and I take a couple sips before answering him.
“Karaoke. It’s weird because I had never really tried it before. I write a romance blog for a living—I’m Charley, from Charley Knows Best,” I wait a beat to see if maybe he’s heard of my blog before, but his expression doesn’t change. Shrugging, I continue, “and while I take a lot of questions from clients, I also write various articles. I was doing one on great first date ideas and Millie suggested a karaoke date. Honestly, she kind of dared me to try it, expecting me to embarrass the hell out of myself with a choppy rendition of ‘Material Girls’, but I was actually good at it. So, really, the joke was on her at that point.” I was smiling in earnest as I told this story, it was one of my favorites, but my smile falters as I catch sight of my date’s eyes glazing over with each word I spoke. A dark cloud of disappointment settles around me as the last little bit of hope I was holding on to fled. No amount of alcohol can turn this evening around. Time for drastic measures.
Adam’s face contorts into what might have been his attempt at a smile and he fixes the lapel of his suit jacket before downing another swig of beer. Every bit of him looks perfectly put together. Unruffled. I’d never thought of that as a turn off until right this moment. “That’s nice. Writing is a pleasant hobby, but I’m glad you don’t have a proper job. I need a woman who’s able to take care of the home.”
I admit, I’m a bit distracted by my own thoughts, so it takes a minute for me to understand his words. Alright, maybe alcohol is a contributing factor to the delay, too. But when I register what he just said, I can’t help but stare. My mouth is open, my jaw slack in shock. I’m sure he thinks I look ridiculous, but I’m past the point of caring what he thinks of me. Did this man spontaneously develop a sense of humor? Or have I been so desperate to find a date that I stumbled upon a sexist jerk? Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, I brush a strand of hair behind my ear and smile sweetly at him over the lip of my glass. Downing the rest of it in one gulp, responsible decision-making be darned, and waving to TJ for a refill, I say, “I’m so sorry. I must have misheard you. Did you say I don’t have a proper job?”
He’s smiling and waving a dismissive hand at me, clearly not picking up on any of my sudden discomfort. “Oh, I just meant that it’s refreshing to find a woman that understands her priorities are to care for the home. So many women are only worried about their careers these days.”
Nope, he definitely hasn’t spontaneously developed a sense of humor. And I shouldn’t have gulped down those martinis. My head’s spinning, and just being in his presence seems to make it worse. I need some air. Standing abruptly, trying to ignore the way the room around me sways, I spit out the first excuse I could come up with to get away for a minute. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to pee.” It isn’t eloquent, but it does the trick. He gives me a slightly aghast look, as if he can’t believe I just discussed the need to perform normal bodily functions immediately after he told me of his archaic views on marriage and relationships.
Adam isn’t my prince. This date is over. Just as soon as I can see well enough to order an Uber. I know this bar well, but right now, I’m struggling to find my way to the restroom. It’s like walking through a mirror maze at a carnival. I squint and that seems to help, allowing me to weave my way past Adam and toward the other end of the bar. I’m doing well, all things considered, until the room sways again, and no amount of squinting brings the world back into focus. I take another step and stumble over an unseen obstacle. I blindly reach out for the wall to catch myself, but it’s not there. My arms pinwheel as they tried to stop my fall, but it’s no use.
I give up on stopping my forward momentum and slam my eyes shut. But the impact never comes. I feel something stop me and pull me back from the abyss. No, not something. Someone. Someone who smells and feels delicious. I want nothing more than to snuggle deeper into this safe, warm embrace and stay there, but when I feel the rumble of his deep voice against my cheek, the fog in my brain clears enough to realize I have absolutely no idea whose arms are around me right now.
Blinking my eyes rapidly, I try to will myself back to some semblance of sobriety as I push against the solid wall of muscle holding me and attempt to stand up by myself. One look at his face nearly has me face planting again. Holy hell he is gorgeous. Warm brown eyes, wavy brown hair that is just a touch longer than conventionally appropriate, and a jaw that makes me want to lick it. I’m not sure that I’ve ever actually noticed a man’s jaw before, but his is a work of art. Something about his face is familiar, but my brain isn’t firing on all cylinders right now and I can’t place him.
I’m so distracted by his chiseled jaw and the certainty that I’ve seen him somewhere before that I nearly miss the wide smile that breaks out on his face. He draws my attention with his words, though. “Uh, thank you. I think?”
His voice seems to come from much further away than it should. And his words don’t make sense. What is he thanking me for? Unless… “Did I say that out loud?”
He chuckles. I feel it more than hear it as I realize with a start that my hands are still latched onto his shirt as if it's my own personal lifeline. Even after realizing it’s probably not appropriate, I don’t want to let him go. He’s so hard and warm. An idle thought passes about how nice it would be to snuggle up in his arms and take a nap right now, and I still don’t release my hold on him. “Which part, Charley? The part about me being gorgeous? Or the obsessive bit about my jaw?”
My name. This gorgeous specimen knows my name. I can’t seem to make my lips work to ask how. My word vomit from before seems to have rendered me completely incapable of speaking at all now. I feel heat rushing to my cheeks. Well, this is a new low, even for me. Here I am, after attempting to flee yet another terrible date, in the arms of the most handsome man I’ve ever met, with my head swimming and my stomach churning as I apparently go on and on about how lovely his jaw is but can’t manage to figure out who he is. I’m a complete mess. Groaning, I unclench one hand from his shirt to rub my face. I keep my death grip on him with my other hand. I need his strength to help me stand. I can’t seem to remember much about where I am anymore, and the room around me seems to be spinning. This man is my anchor, and I’m not ready to release him just yet.
five
