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Dean:Why are you trying to get out more?
Maci:I don’t know. I guess I don’t take initiative often or leap at opportunities in front of me, but I don’t want to miss out on things that might only happen in college, ya know? I don’t want to regret it later.
Dean:It sure felt like you were taking initiative the other night.He double texts me with a wink emoji.
Maci:Yeah, look how well that turned out.
Dean:What do you mean? I had fun.
Maci:Oooohh, it’s fun to turn down a half naked girl in bed?I’m hopeful the emoji with the tongue sticking out shows him I’m not actually mad.
Dean:Whoaaaa. Don’t act like that’s something I wanted to do.
Maci:Then why did you do it?
Dean:It’s never the best idea to make decisions when you’re half asleep.I think back to this morning when I woke an hour before my alarm and in my hazy state easily convinced myself to reset it for a later time. I guess it’s a logical thought, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t want what my actions showed. Not sure what he’s implying by his comment though.
Maci:Okay, that’s fair.
Maci:But I’d still be down. Even not half asleep. Just so you know.
Dean:Good to know.He adds a wink emoji.
He changes the subject, but we continue chatting about random things. My eyes are burning by one in the morning, not wanting to stop talking. Though it doesn’t slip away from me how weird it is he spent his whole party talking to me through a phone when he could have just invited me instead.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mylastclassforthe week just ended, and I’ve never been more thankful that I managed a schedule with no classes on Fridays. It’s been exactly a week since the night Dean came over. We’ve been texting on and off, but nothing as much as Monday night. I want to see him, but I’m being petty about not getting invited to his party. I thought I’ve made it clear I’m interested in seeing him, but he hasn’t attempted to make plans with me.
I searched for him on social media. Based on the pictures, the parties don’t look exclusive by any means. Of course a million thoughts have run through my head. Maybe he doesn’t want to hang out again. But why would he bother coming over to interrupt my studying? Why would he spend his entire party talking to me? What I do know is that if I don’t get out tonight, I’ll go crazy at home sitting by myself snuggled in his hoodie.
I text Avery asking if she and Miller want to grab drinks at Jameson’s with me tonight. Dean mentioned Jameson’s is his go to bar when he does go out, so the chances of potentially running into him are higher than if I went anywhere else. But they also have the best Happy Hour on Thursdays, and Dean is probably at work anyway. Avery replies back almost immediately they’ll come as long as I agree to play a game of pool with Miller. She is over being the only one who gets stuck playing with him.
Sold.
Putting my phone down, I walk to my closet. Usually when I’m the third wheel with my best friend, I stick with my go-to jeans and a sweatshirt because, who is there to impress? But now that I’m actively trying to find a boyfriend, and on the off chance I could run into Dean, I want to at least look better than I feel on the inside. All the clothes that have been in the back of my closet waiting for the day I was confident enough to wear them sure have been making more appearances lately. Avery always says “If you want to feel good, you need to look good” and very strongly believes in the whole fake it until you make it concept. She’s convinced an outfit can change your energy, and your energy is the most important factor in getting what you want. I pick out dark jeans with a silky navy tank top, toss them on my bed and grab my black booties from the rack by the door.
It’s the first time I’ve been inside Jameson’s, even though I’ve passed by it more than once. I can see why Dean likes this bar. It’s ugly, but in a fun way. It’s got a retro vibe, like it was pulled out ofThat ‘70s Show. When you walk in, brown leather booths line the wall that connects to the front door. A long, worn, wooden bar lines the back wall, and off to the right it opens into a room with four orange felt lined pool tables. The lights hanging above the tables are all encased by dusty red covers, and a soft orange light glows from the ceiling above the bar. Unlike every other bar I’ve been in, this one has carpet floors, an ugly green and brown design printed into it. There isn’t any art on the wall in the main bar area, but square canvases line the wall in the billiards room, alternating between circular and lined patterns all in shades of burnt orange and brown. It seems older in here, in both the look and the clientele, and I’m hopeful we’ll avoid the rowdy college crowd tonight.
I head to the bar and order one well whiskey sour and two tequila orange juices. I know Miller will make fun of me for my old man's drink of choice, but as long as he gets tequila and a pool partner, he knows better than to mock me too much. I head over and claim one of the pool tables in the side room before it gets too crowded. Avery and Miller walk in right as I finish racking the balls. Avery smiles, running to hug me, whispering in my ear, “Take my man from me! I love him, but I can’t play another game of pool anytime soon without sacrificing my sanity or relationship!”
I laugh at my best friend and hand Miller a cue. I love that being a third wheel is never awkward with them, and I get along well with Miller. He’s attractive, from an objective perspective of course. He’s tall, with dark brown eyes and hair that’s typically styled into some sort of professional fauxhawk, and most of the time he wears squared black framed glasses. It looks like he came straight from work. He’s got on slacks with a plain v-neck t-shirt he was probably wearing under his dress shirt earlier. I’m still not sure what he does exactly, but I do know that he is exceptionally smart and works in a fancy office downtown. He also treats my best friend like she’s the greatest gift in the Universe, and me the same by association, so brownie points all around. As much as I’m comfortable being around only the two of them, part of me still wishes I could add a fourth person to our night out plans. At least every once in a while. I have this vision of double dating being so much fun.
I let Miller break because I am an absolute terrible shot and can’t scatter the balls to save my life. He doesn’t mind that I’m not great; he’s just happy to play.
We take a few turns each, and I still haven’t hit a ball. Miller has already knocked in most of the stripes, and Avery ran off somewhere, bored watching us. Miller moves behind me to adjust my hands on my cue and help guide my shot. I try again, and finally get one. Go me! I do a little happy dance as Miller steps away to avoid getting smacked in the face with my cue and to let me hit the next one without his help. As I’m lining up my next shot, a hand slides across my lower back. A shiver runs through me, so I already know who is behind me without looking.
“Hi, Maci,” Dean whispers, his voice confirming what I already know. I take a breath and ignore him, focusing on the ball in front of me. I glance at Miller for a moment, noticing the questions in his eyes as they shift to the space behind me. I realize he has no idea who Dean is and probably thinks some random guy is way too close to me. I roll my eyes, hoping it reassures him everything is fine. Miller nods in both acknowledgement and for me to hit the ball. The second Dean pulls his hand back, I take my shot, and to my surprise the green six ball makes it into the pocket.
“Yes!” Miller pumps his fist into the air like he’s shocked but excited I made another one. When I look to flash Dean a small smile and acknowledge him, his eyes have narrowed and are focused on Miller instead. As I make my way around the table to the cue ball, his gaze shifts to follow me, but he walks toward Miller. It distracts me as I take a third shot, and I miss.
“Hey, I’m Dean,” he growls at Miller as he reaches out his hand assertively. I’m a little annoyed, but I also have to refrain from laughing at how he’s suddenly territorial.
“Miller.” He smirks, but doesn’t extend a hand or anything cordial. Instead, he leaves Dean standing there as he takes his shot. He plays until the rest of his balls are in the pockets, leaving five of mine still on the table. Dean stands there with as much confidence as I feel uncomfortable, although I note his fist is clenched at his side. Miller starts to set up another game, completely ignoring him. This guy will keep going until someone cuts him off, but I also know he’s doing it for his own amusement right now too.
Luckily for me, Avery chooses this moment to reappear. She walks up to Miller, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. Then she glances to the side, her eyes raking up and down the very attractive stranger standing only a few feet from her. I watch Dean’s fist relax as he puts two and two together. I know I mentioned Miller’s name the other day, but he must not have made the connection until now.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Avery declares, looking over at me and implying I need to follow her. I break my eyes away from the gray jeans and blue flannel in front of me. It’s such a typical Oregon man look, but on this specific man, it looks so much better.
