It was nearing the end of Billie's lunch hour, and though she'd just gotten to campus, she'd already spent the entire morning stressed out. She sat at her small table in the library, her Physics textbook cracked open yet again, as she had realized that she'd never gotten back to her homework problem. It was due in a few hours; time in which Billie would have otherwise spent doing literally anything else. But the thing about physics was that it always took her forever. So she over-prepared, getting to school much earlier than she needed to, to take classes she didn't want to take.
Her earbuds remained in her ears, the grinding of heavy metal drowning out the scurrying and bustling of students that blurrily moved around her. She bit down on the end of her pen; a nervous habit she'd had since she was old enough to stress. Her fingers tapped the keys of her calculator, retrying the same equation over and over, and still getting no correct answer.
Billie could feel the hairs standing up on the back of her neck in agonizing frustration.
"Fucking James," she muttered, rolling her eyes. He'd never helped her with the problem, and she still hadn't seen him yet; the both of them had been so caught up in their date that she'd never finished the complicated equation. "Dammit, James," she huffed to herself.
Then, as if he was summoned, he slid into the chair across from her, reaching out and plucking out one of her earbuds. Instantly, this caught her attention, and she jumped a bit at the surprise sensation.
"You rang?" He said, overhearing her muttering his name. James was in a great mood; he hadn't stopped thinking about Billie all morning and had looked forward to seeing her. He thought that maybe she'd look at him differently now. Maybe she'd smile at the sight of him. Maybe she'd bite her lip when he said something funny. Maybe she had been thinking about him all morning, too.
But James was in for a surprise.
"Fuck. You." Billie said, her voice flat and her face straight. James threw up his hands in defense.
"Whoa, what the hell?"
Her eyes still glued to him, Billie removed her other earbud, bunching the chords up in a wad and shoving them into the pocket of her jacket. She then picked up her thick notebook, rotated it, and smacked it down onto the table, right in James's line of sight.
As James looked down at the pad covered in what were clearly angry scribbles and jumbled equations, he immediately remembered his half of their deal.
His half that he didn't even try to remember to complete.
Apologetically, he closed his eyes.
"I forgot-,"
"Oh, you forgot?" Billie said, her tone sarcastic. "Well, gee, all is forgiven."
"Blue," James said, sighing. "Come on, I'm sorry."
"You know how I get about these things, James," she said, scolding him. "I've been stressing all damn morning."
"I can tell," he said, nodding toward the mangled pen in Billie's hand. "You should try gum."
James cracked a grin, but Billie wasn't amused. Irritated, she slammed her textbook shut and stood, hurriedly beginning to gather up all of her things.
"You know what? Just forget it. I'll go to Flaherty's study hall and ask him."
"You hate study hall-,"
"I hate a lot of things."
Billie stuffed her things into her backpack, huffing and puffing through it all. Once down to her notebook, she reached across the table to grab it from James.
But he didn't hand it over.
He waited for her to look at him.
"Blue," he said, his hand pinning the notebook down to the table. "You're being ridiculous."
She stared him down.
"I'm being responsible."
"You have hours until Flaherty's class," James pointed out. He harshened his tone so that she'd take him seriously. "Sit your ass down."
"Fuck you," she said again, swiping at the notebook.
But James didn't budge.
And neither did his gaze.
Without needing any other words from him, Billie rolled her eyes. Angrily, she dropped her backpack to the floor and plopped herself right back down into her seat.
At the pout in her lips and the irritation in her eyes, James was reminded just how much he loved her.
He swapped sides of the table, sitting beside her and giving her back her notebook. Then, he reached into her backpack and retrieved the textbook, all while Billie sat there, arms crossed, stubborn-willed, watching him. James laid out her pen and her calculator right back in front of her, flipping open the book back to its dog-eared page.
"I hate you sometimes," Billie grumbled.
"Yeah, and you piss me off on a daily basis," James bit right back. Then, he looked at her, pulling up one corner of his mouth. And gradually, Billie's lips began to twitch upward.
---------
The day was coming to an end.
Billie could see the sun setting just beyond the mountains from the window over her sink; her hands wet with soap as she rinsed and put away dishes. She was the only person that had worked that day, and thankfully, her entire shift had been slow. This was odd, considering it was a Friday night, but she reasoned that most people wanted alcohol on the weekends, rather than coffee and hot teas. Nevertheless, Billie passed the time gracefully. Having already taken inventory, bussed all the tables, and cleaned everything to a shine, she prepared herself a cold raspberry tea and sat up on the counter.
One earbud in, of course, she counted her tips, calculating in her head whether or not she'd made enough to make rent this month. Tandy was still out sick, and Billie was managing the shop just fine on her own. But without Tandy there every day, their earnings in tips were most certainly cut in half.
As if she hadn't had enough stress for one day.
Billie was known for being too busy to think; at least, since she started college, that is. Before college, she was a free spirit, taking risks, afraid of nothing, ditching responsibilities. Now, she and Tandy were living together, hundreds of miles away from their parents, and fending for themselves. Billie found it challenging, but she thrived on challenges. Still, she was worried about falling into a life of stress, and with Tandy still out for this long, it was starting to weigh on her.
The bell over the shop's main entrance rang, and instantly Billie sprang up off of the countertop.
"Hey, sorry, we're closed," she yelled out as she made her way to the front. But she found that her words meant nothing once making eyes with the customer. "Of course," she crossed her arms.
James smiled at her laid back front.
"It's okay, I don't drink coffee."
"We don't only serve coffee," she grinned, turning and walking away from him. "What are you doing here?"
He followed her over to the counter, hands in his pockets.
"I wanted to see how it went with Flaherty."
Billie reached into her smock and grabbed her iPod, shutting off her music and tucking away the earbuds. She then began to tie up her hair into that loose ponytail, her back still turned to James.
"So you stalked me to work, instead of calling me?" She challenged, and James chuckled.
"Yep."
Finally, Billie turned around, her ice blue strands of hair she'd intentionally left out by her ears briefly catching on her lip. She pulled it away, thinking back.
"Well, considering it was homework that was due today, I won't actually know for a few more days." She leaned her hands onto the counter, squinting at James. "You're a doctor, which means you're smart, which means you knew that before you came in here. So, I guess I have to ask again: What are you doing here?"
James scratched his beard, caught in the act.
"Clearly, I forgot about how much you like busting my balls," he replied. At this remark, Billie genuinely smiled at him.
"Answer the question," she laughed.
James smirked.
"I wanna take you out again."
Billie scoffed.
"That's funny-,"
"I'm serious," he grinned. "I like you, Blue."
She cocked her head to one side, bringing a hand to her hip. "I've been a bitch to you, literally all day. I have no clue what you see in me."
James dismissed her comment, continuing on as if she'd never spoken. "There's this bar --about fifteen from here-- and I wanna take you there."
"A bar."
"It's not a normal bar," he shook his head. "It's like . . . a lounge. With live music and pool tables, and just about everything that anyone that hates bars would rather have." James then stepped toward her, close enough that she'd have to tilt her head back to make eye contact. "Let's go. Tonight."
Billie felt her heart pick up speed as James stood close to her, and she had no idea why. But her eyes scanned him; all of her senses scanned him. He smelled so nice, he looked so good, and his words sounded so damn convincing.
Right then, she realized that the first time she'd said yes to James, she'd opened a floodgate.
Because suddenly, it was hard to say no.
"What if we drink too much?"
James shrugged off this question, answering it easily.
"I can take care of us," he said simply.
But if only he knew, that those words --those small, certain, magic words-- were Billie's weakness.
Momentarily, she became hopeful, just at the sound of them. She felt her heart turn to mush, just as it had the first time he'd said it.
"Okay," she answered. A parallel from the night before.
James's smile grew wide.
"Okay," he said right back.
Billie blinked a few times, trying to regain her focus. She turned, taking a breath and heading back behind the counter. James started to follow, but Billie quickly turned back around, blocking him.
"Employees only," she stated.
Disappearing from James's vision, she went to the far back of the shop, slipping into the employee bathroom. Hinging herself forward on the sink, Billie stared at her own face in the mirror, suddenly out of breath. She studied her freckles, her naturally bright pink full lips, her long wisps of eyelashes. She noticed her roots coming in at the top of her head, creating a harsh cut of color between the brown and blue strands. She memorized the shape of her eyes, the dimple in her chin, the sharp angles of her jaw.
She thought that maybe this time, if she timed it just right, she would be able to see in her own eyes why she'd said yes to him again. Maybe she'd even see what it was about her that made him keep coming back.
Maybe she'd see something that could explain what was going on inside her.
But there was nothing she could see.
James had a direct line to her emotions, and she just was not used to it.
She wasn't even sure if she was okay with it.
Shaking it off, Billie exited the bathroom and began to gather her things. She ran over her closing checklist once again, recounting every dollar she'd made, making sure to shut off all lights and appliances. After disposing of her drink, she went to the pile of boxes just outside the back door, grabbing her board and her backpack before coming right back out to the front.
Cooly, she hopped over the counter, planting her feet right back in front of James.
"All good?" He chuckled, amused after watching her. Billie nodded simply, and with that, they headed out to James's Jeep.
----------
"Okay, uhh . . . Jackson, Tyson, Jordan-,"
"Famous Michaels," James answered correctly. Billie nodded, bending over the pool table and sinking a solid shot. She and James had been playing a game of pool, while simultaneously playing mental Jeopardy. It was an easy way for them to make humorous conversation, without it seeming too forced.
"Your go," Billie said, grinning in satisfaction as she rounded the table again for her second shot.
James watched her as he thought; his pride not at all threatened by the fact that she was beating him at pool.
"Alright, umm . . . Ford, Kissinger, The Eighth-,"
"Famous Henrys!" Billie blurted, and James chuckled with a nod.
"Yep." His eyes followed her focus as she leaned over the table yet again, setting up her shot. She was incredibly precise, closing one eye, navigating angles, aligning her cue. Then, she yanked back her elbow and shoved the cue forward, causing the balls to ricochet and clatter almost chaotically; yet strategically.
After a moment, James could see what she'd been aiming for. And though she didn't actually make the shot, the ball came impeccably close to falling in.
"Damn," she muttered.
"That was still a nice shot," James comforted, but Billie shrugged, grabbing her beer from the other end of the table. James studied the balls, specifically the striped ones that belonged to him. "This is all just physics, you know."
Billie gulped down the last of her beer.
"Yeah, that's probably why I'm so shitty at it."
He turned to her, squinting.
"You're kidding, right? You're beating me."
"You're letting me win!" She assumed, and at this, James was genuinely surprised.
"You think I'd do that?"
"I know you're doing that," Billie challenged, one eyebrow raised. "It doesn't make sense that a physics genius can't figure out a game of pool."
James shook his head, disagreeing.
"I am not letting you win."
"Well, you're not trying hard enough to beat me, then," she tried again. "I know you could be crushing me right now if you really tried." This one was a bit more believable.
So much so, in fact, that James didn't try and correct her this time.
Instead, he went to line up his shot, this time formulating equations in his head. James's brain worked like a computer when it came to things like this, and there was some truth in Billie's jest. He decided to exercise that truth, using all of his brain power to set up something monumental.
Then, it clicked.
Rearing back his elbow, he looked up at Billie, having already memorized what he needed to do without even looking.
"Blue," he muttered, and her eyes met his. "Watch this."
Without even attempting to glance back down, James forced his arm forward, sending the cue ball soaring about the table's green surface. Impossibly, the ball mathematically sank every single one of the stripes that remained on the table into various holes.
"Right-center pocket," James said, referring to the remaining eight-ball.
And just like that, that was exactly where the winning ball went.
All the while, James's eyes remained on Billie's face. As her mouth gently fell open, his lips pulled up into a grin.
"You . . . , "Billie stammered, shoving his shoulder. "You ass!"
James laughed, standing upright and turning to her.
"You shouldn't have challenged me."
"You're damn right!" She said, her face lit up in surprise. "That was amazing."
James made a bold move then, moving near her and touching her hand. He played it off as though he were grabbing the empty beer bottle, but he lingered, giving her his handsome smile.
"It took me two dates to finally impress you," he muttered, keeping his gaze on hers. "It's about time."
Billie was fighting her smile; damn, she was fighting it hard. She didn't want to believe that she was starting to like him. And even more importantly, she didn't want him to know if she was.
"Don't flatter yourself," she managed to say. And though she tried to be passive, James caught the subtle hint of flirtation in her eyes.
As he removed the bottle from Billie's hand, she went to put away the cues. James stood where he was, waiting for her to come back, since the return area was all the way at the front of the bar, and they had been in the rear.
Billie didn't look back; her ice-blue ponytail swaying with her every step. She felt the eyes of other men in the bar on her; this was something she was used to. A few even called out to her, feeling that they could finally talk to her now that her date was no longer at her side. But she ignored them all the same, eventually making it up to the front counter and completing the collateral exchange.
Once she was done, she thanked the worker and began her walk back to where James had been waiting.
But, much to her surprise, he wasn't standing there alone.
Just like Billie had encountered when she'd wandered away, she saw that James was surrounded by women, all with colorful fruity cocktails in their hands and glazed looks in their eyes. This stopped Billie's walk briefly, and she just watched them. The women lingered on him, reaching out to touch his arm, laughing too hard at whatever he might have been saying.
And for some reason, Billie found herself upset.
"What . . . the hell?" She mumbled to herself, resuming her walk toward him. Then, she said it again, only this time, loud enough that all of the girls turned. "What the hell?!"
James was confused at the expression on her face, the tenseness of her body. She looked ready to fight; Billie was not a dainty girl. She had muscles he somehow hadn't noticed before, and a tightened fist that looked all too ready to pack a punch.
"Blue," he said, puzzled. "What's wrong?"
"Who the hell is 'Blue'?" One of the girls asked, and right then . . . oh right then, Billie knew that this girl was her target. She was the one with her hand on James's arm; the one that looked like the leader of this group; the one that looked like a challenge.
And Billie was beyond ready for this challenge.
"What the hell are you doing?" Billie said, her eyes narrowed at this girl. The blonde bitch stepped up, letting go of James's arm and turning to around to face her. Billie's eyes briefly caught sight of the indigo cocktail in the girl's hand. Her posse had formed a small circle around them, muttering and giggling to themselves, as if Billie's question was ridiculous and posed no threat.
But the Barbie didn't respond. Instead, she lifted her drink to her lips, daintily taking a pretentious sip. Then, her eyes scanned Billie.
"That's a cute top," she said, a smile on her face. Then, in a move that shocked everyone, the girl threw the drink in Billie's face. The liquid spilled down all over her clothes, staining her T-shirt. "Now it matches your hair."
"Whoa!" James called out, but by the time he'd went to separate the two girls, it was too late. Billie's fist had already connected with the girl's nose, and blood went spilling down into her mouth.
"Bitch!" Billie said, but James refused to let her get any more hits in, immediately grabbing Billie around the shoulders and practically dragging her out of the bar.
"Let's go. Let's go."
He moved quickly, despite Billie's resistance, and within moments they were back in the Jeep, peeling out of the parking lot.