We started out as four that night — three guys and me, drinking, dancing, playing, “Would you go home with…” and hypothetically setting each other up with the club’s troglodytes.
It’s not a very nice game, really.
I was throwing back the vodka tonics, begging them to take me onto the dance floor. They did. And then suddenly, we were two. I remember being confused when I was handed my wallet and the other two left. But we kept dancing. I was being flirtatious. A kiss here and there. I wasn’t being coy. Just having fun and not altogether sure I wanted to head in any particular direction. He was the smooth-talking kind, clearly, having already smooth-talked his friends into leaving the bar before I knew what was going on.
I didn’t want to be talked into anything.
“You’re a line a minute, you know.”
“Why do you say that? You’ve been blowing me off since the 4th of July. And I like you! That’s not a line.”
“You don’t know me. How do you know you like me?” Again, I wasn’t being coy. Defensive, for whatever reason — but not coy.
“Well, A, you’re sexy as hell. B, you’re a good dancer…”
“You’d better be able to go all the way to Z.” I laughed.
“C, you snort when you laugh.”
“And that’s likeable?!”
”Yes. It means you’re low maintenance — not too prissy. D, you’re really considerate of your roommate. I like that.”
“Hmmm, alright. You can have that one.”
“E, you can quote Zoolander. F, great kisser. G, you’re amazingly soft.”
“Is that a euphemism for fat?”
“You’re insane. Are you going to argue with me all the way back to your place?”
“You think that’s where you’re going?”
By the time he made it all the way to Z, that’s exactly where we were. I put a movie on; we didn’t watch it. I don’t think I have to tell you to curb your imagination as to what happened. I’m a good girl.
And I’m a cagey girl.
Because when he came by the next afternoon, he got something of a cold shoulder. I knew I was doing it… but defense systems were engaged and I couldn’t help it. See, the worst part is, had you seen this guy’s face, you might have believed he meant that list. Maybe even down to the letter. And I? Well, I remember having to stop myself from calling him by another man’s name.
Seriously, I should come with some sort of warning stapled to my face. (I’ll leave it to you to work out the exact wording.)
Warning: You Might Make It To Z.
anyway, this was really well written.
Finally! Another woman that is cautious when it comes to jumping in head first. If he really likes you, he’ll understand your need to take it slow. It sounds like he does. Toodles, Dani.
hopefully he also understands a cold shoulder.
truthfully, I don’t know that I want him to.
A year ago, I was where you’re at right now, only much, much worse. And I can tell you from experience that letting yourself be loved is one of the best roads back to loving somebody other than the one that done you wrong (but who’s stuck in your head nonetheless).
If I was sweet enough to be concerned about what my defensiveness would do to truly interested parties, I would write “bitch” across my ass in glitter and send every decent guy running from me and my inner 14-year-old girl.
Being no such form of considerate, I still believe I have it in me to be nice all on my own. And, it’s not like I want to go without the hook-ups, either.
Beautifully written, at any rate.