"Hey, Lexie, you need me to take care of those guys for you?"
Pat met me by the massive fridge before I went back into the restaurant. The traitorous thought that I could tell Pat they were jerks from school and slip out the back momentarily flittered through my mind, but I chased it away.
Not spend time with Bradley? Madness.
"No, no. One of them is an . . . unexpected friend, I guess you could say."
Pat studied me with a bulbous eye for a second before giving in. "I took their drinks over and they seemed okay, but you never know. Not sure if they're staying for food or what. The Boys Night Club is getting a bit rowdy, so I may have to send them off. You sure?"
"Yes." I smiled. We'd had a few incidents with drunk men getting frisky in the past, so Pat had become a protective kind of papa bear whenever the nights became busy. "Thanks though, Pat. They won't be any problem."
"Okay. But you just tell me if I need to knock some heads or something."
Just my own, I thought. So I know I'm not dreaming this.
When I made it back into the front, the Boys Night Club were screaming at the TV, eyes already becoming bleary. One of them waved an éclair around, scattering custard over the face of his friend. Although I wanted to hide behind the bar and pretend to do something else—anything but talk to Bradley in this awful state of hair—I headed to his table again.
Wonderful, I thought as I approached, catching another glimpse of myself in the mirror. I still haven't straightened my hair or cleaned the cabbage off my apron.
But when I walked up, Bradley was sitting alone, lounging against his chair. He straightened when he saw me.
"Hey girl."
"Where did everyone go?" I asked.
He glanced at the empty table. "Oh, them. They uh . . . they scattered for a while. I'll meet up with them later. No big deal."
"Oh, right. Well . . . can I get you anything?"
He leaned forward. "I'm good, don't worry about me. When do you finish your shift?"
"Not for three more hours."
"Oh, that's it? Sweet. I'll wait."
My eyebrows shot up. "You'll wait? For me to get off work in three hours?"
"Yeah." He shrugged and motioned to the bar with a jerk of his head. "Go do your thing. Have you had dinner yet? We'll go get something when you're done. Is that okay?"
"Are you . . . are you sure?"
He smiled and my heart oozed into a pile in my shoes. "Lexie, I'm always up for food with a beautiful girl. Waiting three hours is not a big deal, I promise. Go work and let me know when you're done."
I returned the smile, my heart pounding so fast I felt light headed. "Okay. I'll . . . uh, just let me know if you need anything." I turned back around in disbelief. "Really? Are you sure?"
"Go!" he called, laughing. "I can handle it."
The next hour passed with the vague awareness of him watching me every now and then as I interacted with customers. Despite my ugly, dirty apron, I was glad to have something to wrap around my body and hide my imperfect torso, making me feel like I could hide behind something. Lucky's had filled up, so I hardly had a spare minute to keep his Dr. Pepper filled let alone chat.
"All right, George," I said to one of the Boys Night Club members as I plucked a half-eaten éclair from his waving arm before he smacked me with it in the face. "Hand over the éclair and let's call you a cab. I think you've had enough tonight."
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.