I am two seconds away from running out of Starbucks. The Lifeguard hasn't seen me yet. He is holding the door open for someone. It's a guy. A little bit older than Lance, maybe, and even though this new guy is attractive in his own way, he's almost the opposite of my lifeguard.
Lance's hair is short, almost a crew cut. His friend's hair is long, like a rock star from the big hair days of the 80s. Lance is dressed like an off-duty boy scout: button up shirt, khaki pants like he's on his way to church or to a job interview at the gap. His buddy wears wife beater that shows off his wildly imaginative tattoos (I'm seeing squids wrestling with whales -- very nautical), and his jeans are so ripped up to the point that there is more skin than pants.
"Look," whispers Megg. "He's brought a boyfriend. You were right. He is too cute to be straight."
I smack her arm, but I don't know why the idea of him being gay makes me a little mad. Straight or gay, I'm sure I don't have a chance of being anything other than the poolside freak who sexually assaulted him. Still, I doubt this rocker wannabe is a boyfriend. Even though they look very different at first glance, there's something about their eyes. The shape of their dark eyebrows. Those jagged jaws.
"They could be brothers," I say, hopefully.
"In that case, you better introduce me," Megg laughs, then pushes me forward before I can think about protesting.
Lance spots me. He recognizes me. He looks both shy and curious.
"My friend says she knows you," Megg says. This is too much. My Embarrassment Meter is off the charts. I have to bump things back and get out of this mess. Take it back to the moment before Megg gets the bright idea to make a fool out of me.
I close my eyes, but time keeps going forward not back. I am stuck here. Something about Lance is not letting me bump things back. Megg is right. He is my kryptonite.
"Is this the one you told me about?" asks the guy with Lance. They must be brothers. Same set of dark, hypnotic eyes, like cups of coffee. Sorry for the lame attempt at a simile. I am at Starbucks, after all.
"She's the one who kissed me," Lance says. He is so quiet, which is weird because at the Paseo Club, he spends his day shouting at children, commanding them to walk not run. Now, in the midst of soccer moms and espresso machines, I could barely hear him. How shy is he, anyway?
"I wanted to say I'm sorry," I begin, but I don't know where my apology is going. Doesn't matter, because Lance stops me in my verbal tracks.
"No you're not," he says.
The boy with the long hair and sailor tats bursts into laughter. "You may not know this about my brother, but he is an idiot."
"No I'm not," Lance says, very serious, matter of fact.
"An idiot at some things, you must admit. I haven't figured out if my little brother has got aspbergers, schizophrenia, or if he's just an asshole," he says, slapping Lance on the back. "My name is Ron, by the way."
"Nice to meet you," I say in perfect awkwardness.
"What, no kiss?" Ron chuckles.
I wish I could time warp back to the beginning of this conversation, or all the way back to breakfast, but I'm stuck and now. Why? Why can't I bump things back? Is it me? Or is it this guy? Or maybe both of them?
Megg senses I'm still in humilation-induced shock. "This is Venda," she introduces me. "Her name doesn't men anything in any language. her parents just wanted to be original. I'm Megg. Nothing fancy."
"Spelled with two Gs?" Lance asks.
"How did you know?" she giggles, offering her hand as if she were some French debutante.
Ron takes her hand and kisses it, as if he were a French scoundrel. "Two Gs. That seems fancy to me."
Just as his lips smack the back of her hand, recently dumped Brad walks back into the Starbucks to see the exchange. Ron kissing her hand. Lance standing nearby, maybe waiting for his turn. Megg, flirtatious and totally not a lesbian, blushing in front of some strange new guy.
"But I thought you were a--" Brad tries to speak, but a sob clenches his throat, and he tuns out of the coffee shop, knocking a Frappacuno out of a fat business man's hand. So much for not making a scene. And there's nothing I can do to take it back.
I am stuck in the Now. The terrible, terrible Now. How the Hell do people live like this?
