Page 2 of Off Camera
The only thing I’m looking forward to is a long shower and scrubbing myself from my head to my toes so I can get rid of his slimy touch.
I wiggle free and try my best not to run down the hallway to the bar’s bathroom so I can hide out for the next five to seven years.
Or at least until he leaves and drives far, far away.
I lock myself in a stall and lean against the wall, killing time by blocking his number. I make sure to block him on the dating app too for good measure.
Ten minutes later, once I’m sure the douche canoe isn’t loitering around anymore, I head back into the restaurant.
As terrible as tonight was, I really don’t want to go home just yet. My apartment is too quiet and too empty, and being alone with my thoughts sounds like the worst idea.
Another drink while watching old NBA highlights on the television at the bar sounds much better.
I see an empty spot at the counter and make a beeline for it.
“Hi,” I say to the guy to my right, and he doesn’t glance up from his phone. “Are you saving this seat for anyone?”
“Nope.” He scoots his stool over an inch to give me some space. “All yours.”
“Thanks.” I slide onto the ripped leather and put my elbows on the counter, grateful when the bartender comes over and lays a cocktail napkin in front of me. “Can I get a double whiskey neat, please? And a slice of cheesecake?”
“Thought you were allergic,” the man with the phone says.
I whip my head to look at him.
His thick-framed glasses hide a lot of his face, but I see green eyes and red scruff on his cheeks that matches the hair on his head. An inviting grin pulls at his mouth, and he seems so familiar to me. I’m certain I’ve seen him somewhere before, I just can’t remember when.
“Eavesdropping?” I ask with a quirked eyebrow.
“Hard not to when the dude you were with spent fifteen minutes talking about why the 1920s would’ve been a great decade to live in,” he says.
“You heard all of that?”
“Every word, unfortunately. The whole bar did,” he draws out. “Think it took ten years off my life.”
“I’d really like to curl up in a hole. I despised that conversation, but I’m an Enneagram two. I’m a people-pleaser. I—I like to be needed and appreciated. It’s almost impossible forme to disappoint someone, even if that person is the scum of the earth,” I say. “It’s a horrible plight.”
“Enneagram?” He pushes his glasses up his nose with a long finger. I notice right away there isn’t any wing sauce on his knuckles. “Is that an astrology sign? Fire and water, right?”
“Close,” I say, even though he’s nowhere near correct.
“Are you lying to be nice to me?”
“I am. Fire and water sound more likeAvatar.”
“The Last Airbender? There’s something I could talk about for hours,” he says.
“What about the James Cameron film?”
“I’m not nearly as passionate about that one. Can’t get past the blue aliens.”
I sneak a look at him. I’m surprised to find him already looking at me, and I take it as an invitation to study him.
He’s handsome with sun-kissed skin and freckles across the bridge of his nose. A button-up shirt is rolled to his elbows, and his forearms have veins. His palms are large, and they must make holding things very easy.
He’s smaller and less broad than the men I work with on the football field, but I see the hidden curves of muscles hiding under his sleeves.
“How long have you been sitting here?” I ask.
