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Looking back now, I can see that I was an idiot to think that she would remember what happened.
I had seen her when she first came in. I was outside on door duty and normally I’m more worried about guys trying to pick a fight to notice any of the girls that come in, but Betty was different. She had my attention from the moment that she walked up to the bar.
I had spent more time at the door, peeking in through the window to keep an eye on her than I did on the actual line trying to get in to see the band that was playing. I felt protective of her instantly, but it was more than that. She called to something inside of me.
Maybe it was because she was the first person to walk through the door who actually smiled at me. I know that people think that I’m scary. I’m six foot seven and I like to work out, so I’m big. The scar that runs down most of the left side of my face doesn’t help either.
Being big and mean looking helps make me a great bouncer, but it’s not what I really want to do. I love to paint. I used to be a damn good sculptor too, but making art is an expensive hobby and working at On the Rocks pays well, but not that well.
When I had gone inside on my break, it had been easy to pick her out of a crowd. Her red hair was like a flame and I was the moth, incapable of looking away from the light. She had been watching the band, so I didn’t try to approach her. I only managed to catch her eye once and, just like at the door, she had smiled at me, her green eyes twinkling.
I kept an eye on her as best I could for the rest of the night and about an hour before closing, I turned around to head back inside from throwing some drunk prick out when I had almost run into her.
She had wobbled in her high heels but she had been doing that all night. It felt natural to reach out and steady her, and I had felt hopeful when she didn’t flinch at my touch.
Instead, she had offered to buy me a drink, made me laugh, and then she—
“Where is my car at?” Betty asks, interrupting my memories from last night.
“The bar.”
She nods and I wonder where the funny girl from last night is. She probably has a headache and I realize that she should be drinking more water too.
She pushes some of her hair out of her face and I notice how tired she looks.
“You should have slept more.”
“What?” she asks, surprised that I broke the silence.
“You look tired. Did I wake you when I was making breakfast?”
I should have been quieter when I first got up or maybe I should have waited until she was awake to start cooking and moving around.
“Oh, no, I didn’t hear you at all. I must have really been out,” she says with a sigh as she twists her hair over her shoulder. “I always wake up early after I’ve been drinking. It’s like I can’t sleep more than four hours or so. As if the hangover isn’t punishment enough,” she says with a light laugh and I crack a smile.
“Do you go out to drink a lot?”
“No, I was… frustrated last night and decided to go out. Which was a terrible mistake, obviously.”
“Why were you frustrated?” I pry.
I want to know everything that I can about this girl. Even if she can’t remember what happened last night, I still want her. Maybe I can show her that I’m not a bad guy. Maybe I can make her fall in love with me too if I can just spend a little more time with her.
“My parents were lecturing me.”
“How old are you?” I ask, suddenly alarmed that she’s not legal.
“Twenty-one.”
“Oh, thank god,” I blurt out.
“What?”
“Uh, thank god that you’re legal. I didn’t want to have let someone underage into the bar last night,” I lie and she nods.
“Oh, yeah, you’re good.”
I am not doing well here. What do people say to get them to like them?
