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THE LAST ROMANTICS
PAST
“Itried to tell you,” Miley tells me, her sage wisdom interrupted by a drunk giggle. Because drinking on a Sunday night before the start of the summer semester is probably what I should’ve been doing instead of standing outside of the movie theater, talking to my tipsy best friend on the phone.
I justhadto say yes to one of these little assholes.
That’s what wanting to get laid will get you—stood up.
I kick out my foot, watching as my scuffed white Converse peeks up at me. A cool breeze picks up, flirting with the ends of my floral skirt. It brushes against the tops of my calves, and I turn, taking one last glance up the street.
“Yeah, well. I’m gonna stay anyway.” I turn on my heel and adjust the strap of my brown leather bag as I walk inside, determined to enjoy myself.
“If you want some dick, there’s plenty here,” she announces, and I hear a few malewhoopsin the background.
“If I wanted any old dick, I’d fuck the homeless guy on the corner,” I hiss, peering around as I step up to the building to purchase a ticket.
“Suit yourself,” she says, giggling before she ends the call.
I’ve never been able to just sleep with anyone. It’s a curse.
I have toget to knowsomeone before I can decide if I’m attracted to them or not. Therein lies the reason for my unsolicited celibacy. I’m perpetually surrounded by young men who don’t want to be known. They don’t want to put in any work at all.
I huff when I realize no one’s come to the ticket booth before I notice someone inside, wiping down the concession counter. When I yank the door open, I’m startled by someone coming up behind me.
“You’re fucking late—” I start as I turn to give my “date” a piece of my mind, only for my mind to go blank. Because who the fuck is this?
He’s smiling as he reaches out to hold the door open behind me.
“I wasn’t aware anyone was waiting on me,” he says, and my brain detects a slight accent. I can’t quite place it, but I blink once before I step over the threshold.
“I thought you were someone else,” I respond, my heart pounding from complete embarrassment, my outward expression remaining stoic.
His grin is surrounded by a thick dark beard and his hair looks damp, like he may’ve just gotten out of a shower. He stands almost half a foot taller than me, which is impressive because I’m not short.
“A shame.” He glances past me, and I turn to look at the man standing at the concession stand, his stare only punctuated by the quick rise of one of his brows.
Oh, like you have anything better to do,I think to myself as I walk over to him.
“I’ll take one ticket toRoman Holiday,” I start as I open my small pocketbook, reaching for my wallet.
“Excuse me.” The man from the door steps beside me, “Make that two.” He hands the man behind the counter a credit card before I can utter a word.
“Oh…” I don’t really know what to say.Thank you? Who the hell are you?
“You’re welcome,” he supplies as he’s handed back his card.
He glances at me through his thick, dark lashes as he pushes his card back into his wallet and his wallet into the pocket of his dark slim khaki pants that fit around his ass like they were tailor-made for him. I’m so sick of these fresh-out-of-their-teens guys who wear ill-fitting clothes and learned to fuck from poorly made porn videos.
This man…he reeks of grown motherfucker from his pants that actually fit him to the way he bought my movie ticket with no prompting.
“I’m not an asshole,” I offer, looking back up at his face and stepping away from him.
“Of course you aren’t.” He smiles like he knows a secret that I’m dying to find out.
“I’m not,” I insist as I walk toward the doors of the auditorium.
“I am,” he tells me with a shrug. “More people should be.”
