Bon Bons to Yoga Pants

Chapter 38-Class and Taste and Experience

I put a hand on his back to guide him off the chair, but he didn't budge.

"Lexie," George slurred, his fingers still pinched as if he held the pastry. Pat glanced over, but I waved him off. He was dealing with the other drunk members of the Boys Night Club. "You're lookin' good."

"Do you want me to call your wife to come get you?"

He shook his head back and forth so many times I thought he'd throw up. "No wife. No wife. No wife."

"Let's go, then. There's a cab outside that can take you."

"No wife!" he yelled. "I'm alone, Lexie! I'm ALONE!"

"George, calm down, all right? Let's get you home. You'll feel a lot better."

"Alone," he wailed, grabbing my arm with a chocolaty hand. He stopped and set a bloodshot eye on me, appraising me with the glassy eyes of a man swimming in heavy liquor. "Hey, Lexie. Yer pretty cute. Why don't you come home with me?"

"No, thanks."

His hand tightened with surprising strength. I tried to pull away, but he gripped tighter. "Butwhynot? Imma man. Yer a woman—"

"George, let me go."

"Aw, c'mon Lex! I could show you a—"

"Hey George!" A large hand grabbed George's wrist and yanked his hand off my arm. The next thing I knew, a familiar set of burly shoulders stood between George and I. Bradley gently pushed me back out of George's reach. "I think you've had enough to drink, my friend. Let's get you outside."

Bradley grabbed George's shoulder and pulled him off the chair. He glanced at me over his shoulder with a questioning look.

"I'm fine," I said, rubbing my arm. "Thanks."

The attention of the other patrons faded as Bradley escorted George outside. I grabbed the four empty bottles littering the bar and walked back behind the bar, feeling a bit shaky, although it had nothing to do with George.

"Sorry, Lex," Pat said. "I was trying to get over there."

I smiled to reassure him. "No problem, Pat."

"Why don't you leave early?" he asked. "Things are slowing here. The Boys Night Club is all leaving. I can handle the rest."

"But—"

He shoved me gently to the back. "Go with your little, well, not-so-little friend. Seems like a good one."

__________

"Thanks for your help back there," I said to Bradley as we walked out of Lucky's Irish Pub together five minutes later. I'd replaced the dirty apron with a light jacket and managed to pull my hair into some semblance of order. My phone vibrated in my pocket every twenty seconds with a new message from Rachelle.

OMG what's happening?

You suck! Why haven't you updated me?

I'M DYINGGGGGGG

Bradley waved it off. "Too easy, girl. So where do you want to eat?"

I motioned down the street. "There's a little diner down here that has really good chili cheese fries. Do you like chili cheese fries?"

He put a hand on the small of my back before we crossed the street. "A woman after my own heart. Let's do it."

Within minutes we were sitting across from each other in a booth, and I had a front row view of his beautiful hazel eyes. The waitress set two cups of ice water in front of us and left without another word.

"So?" I asked, already feeling the burden of a possible awkward silence. "What are you and your friends here for?"

"We have a few buddies that play basketball here. We were coming to hang out for the weekend and watch finals. Pretty crazy that we walked into the pub where you work. I was hoping to see you but figured you were probably already booked this weekend, so I'm glad we could work something out."

You have no idea.

He leaned forward again. "Look, my buddy has a game tomorrow morning, and then there's another one in the evening, but I'm going to ditch that one because I think it's time you and I had an official date." He glanced around. "And not at a diner with chili cheese fries."

I laughed. "What? This isn't classy enough for you?"

"Class has nothing to do with it," he said with a grin that made my joints feel loose and slippery. "But taste and experience does. What do you say?"

So many thoughts ran through my head that I didn't even know where to start. I'd never been on a real date outside of the awkward high school blind dates Rachelle had forced me to endure so she could go out with all her random loverboys without inciting her mom's suspicion. I'd sit with my hands in my lap, my eyes glued to the TV, while she made out with whoever her tryst was at the time.

To say I was nervous, inexperienced, and terrified would understate it entirely. Not to mention that I had no idea what to wear.

"I say . . . yes."

He let out a long breath, and I realized I had paused in thought. "Whew. You had me worried for a second. I thought for sure you were probably already busy."

Too busy for you? Madness.

"By the way," he continued, "as a warning, I may or may not exploit this chance and take you to a horror movie with me just so I can appear macho and manly while you get scared. Think you could play along for the sake of my ego?"

"I'll simper and cry and throw myself into your arms."

"That would help a lot. I have to play this situation carefully, because I still want to be your date to your sister's wedding. No matter what happens between now and then, I've got to see this Pepto-Bismol bridesmaid dress."

"For blackmail purposes, I'm assuming?" I quipped, and he laughed.

"Definitely. Now the real question is this: how is writing going? Because we have to get you that awesome editing internship."

My stomach clenched. "Writing? It's . . . the same."

"Still nothing?"

To my surprise, I found myself telling him about talking with my mom, one-on-one, for the first time since Dad died. "Then she suggested that I write about Dad, just like you did. So . . . I don't know. I'm thinking about that now. There's just so much I could write. I don't know how to narrow it down."

His face had sobered. He took my life and concerns so seriously. Could I be interesting enough that he cared, or was he just being a nice guy?

"I think you need to write about what makes you happy, and talking about your dad always seemed to make you happy."

"Yeah. He was my best friend."

The waitress set a towering pile of chili cheese fries on the table between us. They had been Dad's favorite, so when I plucked one from the bottom and popped it in, I imagined being a little girl again.

"You're right," Bradley said after a few mouthfuls of fries. "This chili is amazing. But let's be honest. It's gotta go down with a disclaimer. I, in no way, take responsibility for how much I fart during our date tomorrow night? You good with that?"

I tilted my head back and laughed.

I just couldn't make you go all weekend on a cliffhanger (not to mention the death threats I received—JK) so here's a bonus chapter for you! I'd love your thoughts on Bradley so far! Also, let's think of a name for them. BraLexie? Bradexie? Put your suggestions in the comments. 

And tune in Monday for our regularly scheduled program!

MUAH.