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"I know so. Jon thinks he wants to have a meaningful relationship, but he isn't ready for a real commitment. He wants a regular fuck buddy with no strings attached. Heather wants a hot guy to bang whenever she has a night off. They're made for each other."
She's smiling so wide it makes me feel depressed because, well, I am underwhelmed with Man Bun.
On paper, he should tick all my boxes. Smart. Educated. Ambitious. Sensual. Cultured. Tall. Dark. Handsome even if he has a man bun and curly moustache.
Many women would be happy to have his attention.
"Oh, here comes Evan," Marina says, wagging her eyebrows. "He's a hunk, isn’t he? Admit it – you think he's hot and smart."
I watch Evan approach, two glasses of what looks like storm drain water in his hands.
"Man bun," I say, disheartened.
"What?" Marina turns to me, frowning. "You don't like his hair? It's very fashionable."
"He's a hipster," I say under my breath.
A pretentious hipster.
"Exactly," she whispers. "He's cool. And very sensual. Now enjoy."
Then she leaves me, passing Evan on his way from the kitchen. "Hey, Evan. How are things going?" she asks as they stop briefly in the middle of the room, her voice loud enough that I can hear.
"Good," he says and raises his eyebrows to her. "Very good."
Then he turns to me, a smile on his face, and holds up the glasses. "Cheers."
I force yet another smile. "Cheers."
I take the swamp water and drink half of it down, squinting at the taste, needing at least some of the alcohol to help me tolerate the rest of the night.
An hour later, after Evan has recounted the bartending course he took so he could work at the campus pub, he moves on to how he loves really great bourbon and talks about taking a sommelier course, which is a course on how to drink wine.
"What's your favorite wine?" he asks, leaning closer.
"I like beer."
"Oh, so do I. There's this great craft beer company that has its microbrewery down close to the campus. I go there all the time
. Steam, it's called. Have you tried it?"
"I like Corona."
"Imported beer is good," he says, and I can see his mind working on how to be nice with such an uncultured person as myself.
I hide my yawn behind my hand. "Gee, Evan, it's been really great meeting you, but I really have to get home so I can get up at the crack of dawn and go to work."
I shrug helplessly and smile.
"Oh, that's too bad. Are you sure I can't give you a ride? You’ve been drinking."
"So have you."
"But I'm a lot bigger and stronger than you," he says, standing a bit taller. "I can take it. I wouldn't want to see you get pulled over for a breathalyzer."
"I'm fine," I reply. "I know my limit. It's been an hour so I'm good."
Besides, there's the rest of the glass of mojito left because I don't drink weed water, even if it does taste like mint rum.
