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I'm imagining Dean chuckling as he tells me that Pearl Jam is a euphemism for semen. Back in eleventh grade, he reveled in my embarrassment at that fun fact.
But now…
It's kind of hilarious.
The guy smiles at me. I'm sure he has a name, but I can't say I care. I guess I'll call him Anti-Dean. With Anti-Dean, my head is screaming yes but my body is apathetic.
This might be our last chance to kiss and make up and the damn thing still refuses to obey my wishes.
It's willing to kill me.
I guess attraction to a guy who isn't off limits is too much to ask.
My fingers curl around my drink. I bring it to my lips. Finish it in two gulps.
The guy looks at me curiously. Like I'm an amusement or an easy lay? I don't know.
It doesn't matter.
He fails to interest me.
"I haven't seen you in here," he says.
"Don't usually go to bars." I hail the bartender, but he's already on it.
He smiles at her. "Another round."
This time, the look she shoots me is judgmental. Like there's something wrong with going to a bar to drink your thoughts into oblivion. Where does she think her business comes from?
"What brings you in today?" he asks.
"Looking for a distraction." I press my lips into my best smile. Will my body to get in gear.
The bartender drops off our drinks.
My body remains apathetic.
Anti-Dean presses his palm into my lower back. Leans in to whisper. "Let's talk somewhere more private."
"Sure."
I rest my head on his shoulder.
Close my eyes.
Block out the world.
But that only sends my thoughts straight to Dean.
To his cocky smile and his bright eyes and his soft touch.
I don't want to be here.
I want to be there.
Anti-Dean's hand brushes my hip as he slides into the booth. I take the spot opposite his. Finish my drink as he introduces himself properly and tells me about his job.
I give myself one more round to let reason overwhelm my senses.
