Inside My Head

the literary rantings of Angie Frissore

At First Glance

“Will you hurry up already?”

 

“Seriously, dude…do I look totally fat or what?” Samantha asked, obsessing over herself in my mirror. I was getting severely impatient.

 

“We’re not going there to meet anyone.  We are going for Skippy’s birthday…to celebrate his birthday.  It doesn’t matter what you look like,” I snapped back.

 

I didn’t even want to go out that night.  Work, as always, had been hell that week and all I really wanted to do was plant myself on my couch with a bottle of wine and a package of Oreos.  But I had promised Skippy I’d come out for drinks, and deep down I knew I had to take the opportunity to get out of my house.   I was on a mission, and it did not involve flirting (for once).

 

……………..

 

Sitting at a table in the bar, I did my best to stifle a big yawn and pretend to be engrossed in the conversation.  I was thankful to have Samantha there, as Skippy’s friends weren’t really in my circle and I generally found myself grasping to make even small talk with them.  I could tell she was getting antsy, and I sympathized.  Given how uncomfortable I was, I could only imagine how she felt having met these people for only the first time.

 

We took a trip up to the bar for more beers.  We stood there, waiting impatiently, and scanning the room, which was full of what seemed to be nothing but dirty, blue-collared workers fresh off of work. 

 

“There are literally no decent men here,” Samantha groaned.  I gently reminded her that we were there for Skippy, and that the lack of scenery should not really matter.  I secretly hoped for that to change, knowing I’d eventually lose Samantha to boredom and be forced to leave early.

 

“Have another beer and suck it up,” I laughed, already starting to feel a slight buzz.  “It’ll be over before you know it.”

 

“12:00,” Samantha suddenly whispered in my ear.  After a few seconds of wondering what she was talking about, I looked up at the entrance to see three men walk into the bar.  “Take a look at these wanna be gangsta’s.”

 

Led by a large, imposing-looking Hispanic man, the small entourage approached the bar.  I couldn’t help but notice a shaggy-haired, casually-dressed man trailing behind the large man and pointed him out to Samantha.

 

“Well, one of them has promise,” I said with a sly grin, still staring at the thin-yet-athletically-built guy with piercing brown eyes.  For some reason, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.  “Check out the hottie in the Sox hat that’s with them.”

 

“Maybe he’s one of Skippy’s friends,” Samantha suggested. 

 

“I doubt it,” I said, certain that fortune would not smile upon me so brightly.  Just as the words escaped my mouth, the trio suddenly appeared next to us at the bar.  I felt a hand on my shoulder from behind.

 

“That’s him,” Skippy said, nodding towards the object of my interest.  “That’s the kid I was telling you about.”

 

“Really?” I asked, grinning from ear to ear.  “You never said he was this hot!”

 

“What do you want from me? It’s not like he’s my type!” Skippy laughed, heading over to make his hellos. For months, every complaint to Skippy regarding any particular male in my life had been met with the suggestion that I needed to meet The Coworker, whom Skippy had worked with for about a year.  Perhaps Skippy was not simply talking out of his derriere, after all…perhaps he actually knew what he was doing.

 

“Abby, come meet my buddies from work,” Skippy said, waving me over. 

 

“Cover me, boss,” I said quietly to Samantha.  “I’m goin’ in.”

 

Skippy introduced me to the large Hispanic man and his Asian friend before finally introducing me to The Coworker, but their names had already flown out of my head.  I wasn’t concerned about those two, I wanted to learn more about this shaggy hottie who wore his Sox hat like it was his job.  We quickly shook hands as our eyes locked for a moment.

 

“It’s really nice to meet you,” The Coworker said, taking my hand.  “Skippy’s got nothing but good things to say.”

 

“Oh that’s right,” I laughed.  “Remind me to send him his check for that.”

 

As The Coworker walked away for a quick refill, I sat with Skippy and his sister, who was drooling just as much as I was over him.

 

“I’m telling you Abby,” Stacy joked.  “He’s mine!”

 

“No way dude,” I protested.  “I’m older, so by default, I get him.  Besides, brothers aren’t allowed to set up their sisters.”

 

“And he’s got a kid,” Skippy piped in.

 

“You’re right, he’s yours,” Stacy laughed.  Reveling in my victory, I headed back to the bar to find Samantha, who was sitting at the corner of the bar, yawning.

 

“Sorry man,” I said.  “I had to get the lowdown on Skippy’s buddy.  Why don’t we go sit with Lisa since she’s closer to him.”

 

We made our way over to the dart board, where Lisa and Matty were duking it out and had a lovely view of the pool tables.  I tried to refrain from staring as I watched The Coworker play pool, noting his strong forearms that resembled those of a guitar player.  I had always wondered why I was never into a more mainstream part of the male body, like a good butt, instead focusing on arms and shoulders and such.

 

After about twenty minutes of standing there, looking slightly desperate (at least in my mind’s eye), I decided it was time for action.  The Coworker was obviously not going to approach me, and I had to take matters into my own hands.

 

“I’m doing it,” I whispered to Samantha.

 

“Doing what?” she asked, bored.

 

“I’m gonna get my flirt on,” I said, as I marched over to the pool tables.  After a brief bout of small talk with Jim and his girlfriend (who were conveniently situated next to the pool table in question), I lingered nearby, watching The Coworker expertly sink most of the balls on the table.

 

“Alright, I just have one question,” I announced boldly, approaching him.  “Who’s gonna kick my ass in pool tonight?”

 

The Coworker flashed me a smile (as I did my best not to melt into a pool of lust) and agreed to take me on.  Contrary to the evening’s non-flirtatious intentions, I was working my magic with ease and was well into our little ‘match’ when Samantha approached.  I avoided making eye contact with her, hoping she’d walk away.  I knew what she was about to do.

 

“Dude, can we go? This is seriously getting boring,” Samantha complained.  Not ready to end my evening (in any way, shape or form), I said nothing and handed her my car keys.

 

“Are you kidding me? How are you going to get home?” she asked.

 

“Who cares? I’ll get there somehow. Skippy’ll make sure I get home, won’t you Skip?” I yelled over to Skippy, who had just joined Lisa and Matty’s dart match.

 

“Somehow, someway, it will be done,” he yelled drunkenly.

 

“Just don’t crash it,” I pleaded as she hugged me goodbye.

 

“Thanks man, and tomorrow I want details,” she said slyly as she headed for the door.

 

With Samantha gone, and my driving responsibility gone with her, I gladly accepted the beer that The Coworker offered to me and we got back to our game. I was mesmerized by this man, this beautiful male specimen with his perfect facial structure and dark, brooding expression.  I was hooked.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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October 29, 2008 - Posted by | No Messages - Excerpts from the Draft | , ,

5 Comments »

  1. that’s good.

    Comment by van | October 29, 2008 | Reply

  2. while it did not cure me of my nausea, it made for some great reading….is that part of your novel!?

    Comment by alexis | October 29, 2008 | Reply

  3. Damn you are a good writer, color me jealous.

    Comment by Atlanticus | October 31, 2008 | Reply

  4. Why thank you! 😉

    Comment by Angela Frissore | October 31, 2008 | Reply

  5. You tend to overuse the parenthesiseses in this one. You should rethink each usage. But I like this bit a lot.

    “I had always wondered why I was never into a more mainstream part of the male body, like a good butt, instead focusing on arms and shoulders and such.”

    That sentence is great.

    Comment by Mike | November 5, 2008 | Reply


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