Bar Crawl Page 4

  My eyes flew to him the second I stepped through the door. He was at the table in the corner I was going to claim for us, and it struck me with a bizarre sense of déjà vu. I knew we hadn’t been here together before, but…he was in my spot.

  As if the sight of him wasn’t disorienting enough as it was, he stood from the booth as I approached it. He stood and gestured his hand.

  “I picked a table. Hope you don’t mind.”

  The muscles in my jaw felt like they’d been snipped the way my mouth hung open. Sliding into the bench across from his, I noticed he’d been working on a computer. An impressive looking model—a MacBook Pro, I think--that I knew to be incredibly high-end according to the techies at my school.

  Since I’d seemed to have temporarily lost all vocal cord function, CJ spoke again as he remained standing next to the table. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Uh…sure,” I answered, trying to bring feeling back to my tongue. “A medium skim chai. Say medium, not grande. They speak English here.”

  CJ laughed as he turned on his heels and walked to the counter.

  I stared at the silver laptop, which he’d left open. I wanted to lean across the table and look around at the screen. It was an expensive toy for a drummer in a bar band to have.

  “Here you go,” CJ said when he returned to our table.

  “Thank you. How much was it?”

  “Don’t worry about it. My treat.” He curled his fingers around the top edge of the monitor and slowly closed the laptop. I stared at his hand as it rested on top of the machine. “What?”

  I sipped my latte and grinned. “Kind of an expensive way to get porn, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Burn!” CJ laughed loudly, causing me to laugh at my own joke, which I hated doing. No matter how good they were. “Wow, you have a really low opinion of me, don’t you…”

  A tiny pit in my stomach began to form as he trailed off. It seemed I’d struck a nerve, but I hadn’t been given evidence for anything else. “Well, the only things I know about you are that you’re in a band, and you like women enough to broadcast it to everyone at any bar you go to.”

  I could feel the fabric from his jeans rub against my shin as he bobbed his knee up and down. CJ twisted his lips slightly as he opened his laptop, clicked a few keys, then turned the whole thing toward me.

  The oversized screen was filled with gibberish. Code, I believe the technical term is, but gibberish to everyone else.

  “So?” I shrugged.

  “I was working for a while before you got here, Frankie.” He took a deep breath through his nose, spun the computer back around, and closed it once again.

  I exhaled loudly, with a heavy dash of humility. “It hadn’t occurred to me you, like, had a job job. Sorry. Wait…computers?” I had so many questions at once.

  CJ grinned. He hadn’t shaved yet for the day, and I was kind of liking the scruff. “Well, I don’t have a job job, as you call it.”

  “So then why—”

  “All right.” He put his hands up in mock surrender. “Wanna know something real about me?”

  “Please.” I was equal parts intrigued and nervous.

  He leaned back in his seat. “I have my degree in computer science.”

  I laughed.

  I couldn’t help it. It just came out like a sneeze and before I knew it I was covering my mouth in sheer embarrassment.

  “Nice,” he groaned.

  “No. No, I’m sorry. It’s just. What the hell?” I bit the inside of my cheek to prevent any more outbursts.

  CJ held back a smile as he leaned forward on his giant forearms. “I do. From WPI.”

  I wasn’t laughing anymore. It had just gotten serious. “Holy shit, really? I… Well for Christ’s sake, CJ, can you blame me for my reaction? Why the hell aren’t you using that degree? WPI is an insanely good school!”

  CJ brought his hands up and lowered them slowly. “Calm down, people are staring.” He lowered his own voice as he spoke again. “I just showed you what I was working on, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah,” I snickered, “but it wasn’t in English. And, you’re constantly playing at bars. Four to five nights a week. How do you manage a nine-to-five?”

  CJ ran a hand through his hair. “Clearly I need to back up.”

  “Clearly.” Worcester Polytechnic Institute was serious business, and I needed to know if CJ was bullshitting me.

  “I graduated four years ago,” he stated.

  “With a degree in…”

  “Computer Science.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding,” I said flatly.

  He shook his head, his eyebrows lifting as his mouth formed a tentative smile.

  “So then, what…” I wasn’t prepared for questions of this nature. I wasn’t prepared for CJ to be anything other than, well, CJ.

  “So then what, what?” he teased. “The work on my computer right now is contract work for a software company a buddy of mine runs. They’re branching out into other markets and needed me to test a few things. What? You look…confused.”

  I must have. I just couldn’t marry the bar-hopping, neck-kissing, tattooed drummer with whatever visions I’d had of Computer Science majors. Which were none of the aforementioned things.

  “You don’t really look the part, I guess.” I shrugged and sipped some more of my latte. “So who do you work for full time?”

  “I don’t.” His playful eyes egged me on.

  I sighed. “You don’t. Okay. So, drumming, then, pays your bills?” His ability to confuse me through conversation alone was a far cry from anything I’d previously given him unjust credit for.

  CJ looked down and chewed his lip for a moment, as if he were considering how to place his next words.

  “In college, I was part of a group of guys that helped get this social media site off the ground. It was a shitload of work, but worth it. We were demigods.” Suddenly all of the words he said sounded smarter. More articulate. Had he just used the word demigods? “Anyway,” he continued, “two years ago I cashed in all of my shares and walked away from the job.”

  “Why the hell would you cash in your shares? And, wait, what social media site? Is it still around?” I was trying to keep my voice down, but sensed I was failing as CJ shifted his eyes from side to side.

  “I wanted to be free from all of it. The programming stuff isn’t even what I wanted to do with my life, Frankie. It’s just what I was good at. I promised my parents I’d go to school for it, and get a job, so they knew I could take care of myself financially. When I cashed in my stocks I reinvested chunks here and there… It doesn’t matter. The point is, I did what I’d told my parents I would do so that way I could do, finally, what I wanted to do.”

  I nodded, still taking in this dramatic shift in his character. Maybe it was just a shift in my perceptions.

  “And what is it you want to do? Play drums?”

  He shook his head. “Write.”

  CJ

  I said it. I said the thing I never tell anyone to the one girl who wanted nothing to do with me. Even though she had agreed to coffee.

  “You…what?” Frankie sat back, then sat forward again, raking a hand through her hair and leaving it on the side of her head as she rested her elbow on the table. “No.”

  “No?” Now it was my turn to lean in, confused.

  “That’s not…h-how? What are you writing?” She put air quotes around “writing” as she sat back, crossing her arms in front of her.

  “A book,” I admitted. I was already in this deep—might as well go all the way. “That look on your face isn’t really what I expected.” She was staring at me like I had three heads, rather than the excitement I’d assumed awaited me. The least threatening thing about me—according to someone like her—left her looking at me like that? I was in deep shit.

  “Well, this whole day isn’t what I expected, CJ. Jesus. I thought you were some…playboy drummer. In the span of five minutes I find out that you’
re a computer genius, probably rich thanks to this mysterious social media deal, and—the kicker—you’re a writer?” Her eyebrows came together in what looked like irritation.

  “So,” I prodded, “you judge books by their covers?”

  She snorted. “I guess that explains the Frost…” she trailed off, ignoring my question, then she shot her eyes up to mine. “What’s the book about? Ha! Listen to me, that’s the shittiest question to ask an author and here I am, asking you. What…Jesus…what genre?”

  I shrugged. “We’ll see how it shakes out. Fiction, but that’s all I really know for now. I’m kind of doing research as I write.” My palms began to sweat. I felt more exposed in that moment than the time I was caught having sex in the storeroom at Dunes. “What was that about Frost?”

  Frankie seemed to regain her composure. Color returned to her cheeks as she cleared her through. “When you stalked me at work yesterday. You pulled that Robert Frost book down from the shelf. What poem did you look up?”

  I shifted in my seat, habitually flicking my eyes around the room. I didn’t really know anyone in Hyannis anyway, but I still checked. “‘Fireflies in the Garden.’ It’s not what I was looking for, though I do love that poem.”

  “Don’t you think it’s kind of a snobby poem?”

  I sat back in my seat, trying to contain my shock. “No way. It’s sad.”

  “Sad?” Frankie’s eyes looked up and she seemed to be reading the poem on the ceiling. “Sad,” she repeated as though she were considering it.

  “Yes. Any time someone is trying to emulate someone or something else, they’re going to fall short. That’s one piece I’ve always taken away from it. Not that Frost talked to a firefly to see if emulation was its plan, but, if it was, it will fall short. Always.” Excitement formed in the pit of my stomach. It’d been years since I talked poetry with a woman.

  Frankie nodded. “Okay, but, that aside, isn’t it presumptuous to say that they can’t keep up with the part? Of being a star.”

  “They can’t. Because they’re not. At heart, as he states. They weren’t ever stars, deep in their hearts, but that’s what they tried to emulate. And they fall short. If they’d only been content with being fireflies…” I set my hands on the table, and my skin ached for hers. Inches from mine, I could feel the pull. I hadn’t held a girl’s hand since I was in high school, and that was my best friend, Georgia’s, when I walked her home one night.

  “Why should anyone be content with what they are?” Frankie challenged.

  “They shouldn’t, that’s the point. But they need to pay attention, and listen, to what’s in their hearts in order to fulfill a bigger purpose. You can’t force something in your heart that’s not there. Why do you think I’m in a coffee shop writing a book and not sitting in a white office somewhere sifting through code?” My skin heated as Frankie and I sat across from each other, dissecting literature.

  She lifted her eyebrows. “I thought you were working on code when I walked in.”

  “I lied.” I shrugged.

  “Why? Why would you lie about writing? That’s hot.” Her cheeks reddened at the end of her sentence and I could tell she was biting the inside of her cheek.

  I cracked a small laugh. “That’s it? That’s all I had to say to get you to go out with me all those months ago? The writer card?”

  Frankie shook her head and looked down. “It wouldn’t have worked. I’d have thought you were lying. I still kind of think you’re lying. It’s not that hard to memorize and study any short poem on the off chance you like a girl who’s also a word nerd.”

  I rolled my head back and growled. “Fine.” I sat forward and opened my laptop, navigating to my coveted Scrivener document. I turned the screen toward her and held my breath.

  “What? This is what you’re… No. I can’t read it.” She averted her eyes.

  “Why not?”

  She clicked her tongue against her teeth and groaned softly. “Because…because then you can’t be the pig I’ve made you out to be in my head. And then I’d have less reasons to avoid going out with you.” She drew her lips forward, working to prevent a smile.

  I laughed. “Frankie, we’ve been sort of out together three times in the last two days, including right now.”

  She huffed in apparent frustration. “Those…this…doesn’t count. It’s like…a trial.”

  “And I am kind of a pig.” I tried humor, but she didn’t bite.

  “Everything about you has been turned inside out. Well, it’s about to be. If I read that.” She pointed to where her eyes refused to go.

  “Why do you need me to be a pig so bad?”

  “Ly.”

  “What?”

  “Bad-ly.”

  I laughed. The drummer corrected my grammar. Or was it the novelist who did?. “Sorry. Why do you need me to be a pig so badly?”

  “To explain why you go home with different girls all the time, I guess. I can’t figure you out, and it bothers me.”

  “You can’t figure me out because you haven’t talked to me. Now we’re here talking and you’re frustrated. Just look. Don’t leave me hanging with my chest wide open; read the damn thing.” My heart pounded against my chest. I couldn’t believe I was about to show her my work in progress.

  Frankie took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to the screen. “Bar Crawl,” she said as she read the title page. “Interesting.”

  I watched her eyes as she scrolled to the first chapter. I felt more reckless in showing her that file than I had in all of the sexual encounters of my life strung together. Well, that might be pushing it a little, but not by much.

  “Jesus,” she whispered. “Third person omniscient? I haven’t seen this style in a while, and it’s rarely pulled off this well.” I looked down to her arms and noticed they were covered with a million tiny goosebumps.

  “Is it—” I was going to say okay, but she cut me off.

  “This is why you spastically look around the bar all night. When you’re playing, at the bar drinking, or even having a conversation with someone. You’re always looking. These,” Frankie pointed to the screen, “these are their stories. The ones you see when you’re watching them. Aren’t they?”

  I nodded, swallowing hard as I watched her eyes move over my face. Before I knew it, my computer slid out of the way and Frankie rose slightly, her eyes were wide and underscored by flushed cheeks. With her breathing sounding louder and deeper, she leaned across the table, grabbed my face, and pulled me into one hell of a kiss.

  The first thing I noticed was the pressure of her hands against my cheeks. She meant this kiss. Sure, leaning across the table was one thing, but she held my face exactly where she wanted it, and I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to. And once I tasted her lips, I didn’t want to move at all. Ever again. She wasn’t wearing flavored lip gloss, which was, frankly, a relief, but she was chewing spearmint gum and, for some reason, that turned me the hell on. The bold mint infiltrated my senses right before her tongue quickly swept across my lips. I parted my lips slightly, not one to turn down a good tonguing, but she quickly pulled away—almost as fast as she’d lunged across the table. For a fraction of a second, I was left dizzy, questioning my sanity and if the kiss happened at all.

  “Shit. Fuck. Shit.” Frankie covered her mouth and stared at me wide-eyed. “I didn’t mean to do that. I…fuck.”

  Her flustered state finally made me feel like I had three seconds of an upper hand with this girl. So I took advantage of it.

  “Hey,” I chuckled and shrugged, “it happens to the best of us.” I leaned back, dropping my hand to the side of my leg as I contemplated how to adjust my jeans without her seeing.

  Frankie placed her hands on the edge of the table as if she were trying to keep herself from falling out of the booth. Her cheeks were still pink with whatever emotion drove her across the table, but her eyes darkened. “You’re a prick.”

  Huh?

  “What?” I leaned forward, turning my ear sli
ghtly, certain I’d misheard.

  “That was a line. Or a story, rather. A well-crafted panty-dropper of a story you pieced together to break me down. Of course you’d tell me you’re a writer. I’m an English teacher who works in a library on the weekends, for God’s sake.” She lifted her palms as if she’d solved the world’s great mystery.

  “Frankie, don’t you—”

  One of her hands landed squarely an inch in front of my face. “Shh,” she demanded. “No more. No more of your bedroom trickery. I turned you down once for a reason…reasons. And those reasons still stand.” She slid her bag over her shoulder and scooted out of the booth, walking toward the door without so much as a glance backward.

  Not willing to let her blow me off for the umpteenth time, especially since I’d just been more honest that I had with anyone else in a long time, I threw my shit in my bag and chased after her.

  “Frankie!” As I left the coffee shop, I looked both ways, nearly giving myself whiplash. I spotted her, walking with her head down at a hundred miles an hour. I jogged in her direction, not calling her name until I was on her heels. “Frankie, stop!”

  She whipped around, her arms crossed around her like inefficient armor. She kept her head down as she mumbled, “What?”

  I couldn’t waste time kicking myself for my behavior every single night over the last several years that was causing a girl like her to run away from me. I just had to act. With one hand I gripped her shoulder, using my other to lift her gorgeous chin.

  Then, I kissed her back.

  Frankie

  His mouth didn’t taste like cigarettes. That was at least one impression I’d had of him that was flooded away as his lips connected with mine. And, Jesus, they were soft. So soft, in fact, that I let my left eye peek open to make sure that I was actually kissing CJ.

  Nothing about him was soft, I’d thought. His muscles were hard and perpetually flexed. Like an exaggerated action figure. The lines of his face were so sharp, I’d been sure you could slice bread along his jaw. And then there was his personality. There hadn’t been a soft thing about the way he barreled through the bar with a girl’s ass permanently sewn to his hand.