Page 25 of Fun Together
“It was Eli.”
“Who?”
“Andrew’s best friend. The new coworker?” I take a sip of water, and its gross and warm, not refreshing at all. “Thehotnew coworker,” I clarify.
“Ohhhh.” She looks thoughtful. “Maybe you should sleep with him, then.”
I shake my head vehemently.
“So, avoid him.”
I hiccup. “I might have invited him. Here.” I tap the top of the bar with my fingertip. “He might come here.” I’ve been surreptitiously looking around the bar ever since we arrived, seeing if I could spot him. But it’s so crowded and dark he could be any one of these undulating blobs of people.
“Sounds like you might want to do something with him, then.”
“No, I think he was just there, and he mentioned he hadn’t been out in a while and I asked before thinking about it.”
She looks like she wants to discuss this more, but decides not to push it. “Don’t worry about it.” She looks around the bar. “You can find someone else here.”
“I don’t want to have sex with someone in this bar tonight.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, obviously.” She swivels toward me on her stool. “But, like I said before, you need to expand that zone of comfort at least a little.”
I must be looking at her like I don’t know what she could mean because she adds, “Maybe you kiss someone?”
“There’s no one here—” I burp. “I want near my mouth.”
“Come on. Won’t know for sure until we scope out the entire place. At the very least you need to talk to someone.” She stands up from her stool, gripping the side of the bar to remain upright. “Let’s mingle.”
The bar is very narrow and so full that we have to elbow our way to the back. This place is so old, I don’t think they’ve changed the décor in decades. The lights hanging over the pool tables probably haven’t been dusted since the Reagan administration, and there’s decades of cigarette smoke baked into the green felt.
Rett suddenly grabs my arm in a tight grip. “I see potential. Those two.” She nods to a couple of guys leaned against the wood paneled walls. They look perfectly fine, I guess, but I don’t feel any kind of invisible tug drawing me to them.
I groan. “I don’t want to.” I’m drunk and sleepy and fighting the urge to stomp my feet like a toddler. “I want to go home.”
She grabs me by the shoulders. “You can do this. You can try.”
She’s right. I’m never going to move on if I don’t try. Hierarchy of Fun and all. “Fine. But I’m gonna go pee first.”
I navigate my way through the crowd and luckily the bathroom is available. As I wash my hands, I take a look at myself in the mirror.
Do I want to kiss someone tonight?
I touch up my lipstick. Kissing might be nice. Kissing might be very nice. I look deeply into my dazed eyes. “If kissing is meant to happen, it will happen,” I say out loud to myself. The universe will send me a sign.
I come out of the bathroom to find the door has been barricaded by a couple making out in front of it.
There is my sign, I guess.
“Excuse me,” I say, trying to gently nudge them out of my way. But they just push toward me. I may die of suffocation via the mass of dark hair currently shoved in my face. Her hair smells good, though. Like coconut. I wonder what kind of shampoo she uses.
I give them another push, a little less gentle this time. But they seem to take this as invitation because the next thing I know the guy has raised his head from the woman’s face and he smiles at me.
The woman looks back at me and her face lights up. “Oh my god, you’re so pretty.” She says reaching out to touch my forearm. “I love your hair.” She twirls a lock of my hair around her finger.
“Thank you,” I say. “I like yours too. It’s smells amazing. What kind of sham?—”
“Faye?”
