This can not be happening. Why does Blake have to be at this bar on my birthday? Isn't he supposed to be with his beautiful wife?
For every step he takes forward, I retreat like a cornered animal. I bump into Val behind me, sighing in relief that she's got my back. She wouldn't make me talk to him, would she?
Then because life isn't fair and the cosmos hate me, Val's hands steady my shoulders and she whispers in my ear, fanning my flushed skin with her warm breath. "Kelly, what are you doing? A hot man has noticed you, and he wants to talk to you."
"But, but-" But this is Blake, the guy who called me Wanker, is too attractive for his own good, and is oh, by the way, married. Unfortunately, the explanation gets stuck in my throat, and he's right in front of me before I can run.
He looks good, dressed in a short black button-up shirt over a gray tee, stretched over his ridiculous abs. Instagram didn't do him justice. His abs don't just have abs beneath them — his stomach muscles have fucking grandbaby muscles beneath the middle muscles. He isn't Captain America or Iron Man — no, this dude is the Hulk wrapped in man-candy and whipped cream.
His beard is neatly trimmed and his smile is to die for as his eyes shine only on me. Is it possible to combust from being in the presence of a Greek god? And when he speaks, it's like every normal, intelligent thought falls out of my head, leaving me to stare like an idiot.
"Hi, Kelly. You look good."
This is the part where I'm supposed to say something, anything, starting and ending with, "you're married," but I just can't get my mouth to work.
"Say something," Val urges.
For the life of me, I can't. Our shots materialize, and Blake looks between us and the drinks before his lips turn up and he says, "Twenty-fourth huh? Mind if my friends and I join you lovely ladies?"
"Social distancing!" I blurt it out loud enough for everyone to focus their attention on me like one of those movies where the turn-tables stop and it's so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. My face is now burning — the temperature in the room must be at least the same as the heat outside. I want to run, to go home and hide in my bed, but I'm rooted to the spot.
"When I told you to say something, that's not what I had in mind," Val mutters. She steps around me, cutting my only lifeline loose, smiling innocently at this homewrecker. "Kelly's shy. Come join us."
Blake doesn't need any more prompting, and he signals the two men at the end of the bar. They pick up their drinks and join us, watching us with curious smiles. They're both appealing — one with sandy blond hair, hazel eyes, and a height to match Blake's, while the other is a few inches shorter with dark curly hair, brown eyes, and a dimple on the left cheek.
Indicating his friends, Blake introduces them, starting with the blond. "This is Brett and this is Ajay. Boys, this is Kelly and..." He pauses, silently prompting my best friend to speak.
"Val," she supplies, batting her eyelashes like a pro.
The men stare appreciatively while Blake keeps his gaze firmly on me. For the very first time, there's a man immune to Val's charm. While everyone is gawking at each other, I sneak a glance at his hand, pretending to look down out of shyness. There's no ring or a line to suggest he wears one. Is it possible I got it wrong? Or maybe Nikki is an ex-wife he's still friends with. I never actually looked at the date in the pictures.
The noise resumes, drowning out my embarrassment so it's only us again. Blake flags down the bartender, cheerfully calling out, "Three more of whatever they're having on me."
"Isn't cranberry vodka a ladies drink?" Val challenges with a smirk.
"It's Kelly's birthday," he says with a raised eyebrow. "Besides, there's no such thing as a gendered drink anymore in this day and age."
"Well played." Val turns to me and squeezes my arm. "Oh, I like him. Ah! Our drinks are here! Bottoms up!"
Everyone reaches for their drinks and raises their glasses expectantly, waiting for me. I have a feeling I'll need a lot of alcohol before the night is over. I'd briefly told Val about Blake, but she doesn't seem to remember this is the Blake, the one I met in the Urgent Care center. If she did, she'd be finding a way to ditch him, but I can't embarrass him in front of his friends like this.
With trembling hands, I take my glass and raise it to my lips. "Cheers."
My voice is weak and tinny, but no one pays attention as I drain the drink. It goes down smooth, working its way through my limbs.
"Happy birthday!"
Other people in the bar shout it as well, clapping and whooping for the girl in the tiara, so I put on my happy face, telling myself I can get through this. Val will probably take me home after an hour, which is a reasonable amount of time for me to pretend to have fun before I can excuse myself.
Val waves, bouncing her curves as she does, and the bartender zooms over faster than he can pour drinks. Her ass shakes, her breasts wiggle, and her shirt rises with her arm, exposing her flat tummy and sparkling belly-button ring. There's not a single person looking anywhere but at her.
With a playful swat, her hand smacks my thonged bottom so loud, it sounds like I'm being abused in a sex dungeon. All three men stare with wide, dilated eyes, the veins in their necks visibly pulsing as one of them loosens their shirt collar. One thing that hasn't changed about straight men in this progressive age is that they're still gonna look, and they'll still be turned on by two women flirting.
Even the bartender's attention has finally landed on me, gawking like he's waiting for us to get drunk enough to put on a show. I don't like it, and I decide this will be my last shot.
"I'll have a tequila, please."
While the bartender pours our drinks, Blake guides me to a stool, helping me climb up. "Have you eaten yet? Alcohol isn't good on an empty stomach."
I shake my head. I don't plan on drinking anything else, but he's right that I should eat.
"Would you like me to order you something?"
His offer is kind. As a doctor, it would be something he concerns himself with. It also shows he's responsible enough not to get me drunk and take advantage of the situation. The problem is, I don't know him; and if he's married, it would be incredibly inappropriate to accept anything from him.
"I can order my own food," I whisper, staring at my folded hands on the bar.
Not taking the hint, Blake slides in the adjacent seat while Val remains firmly planted on my left. Brett and Ajay, more interested in the voluptuous Latina bombshell, scramble to get a seat beside her, with Brett stumbling over his feet.
As the men make fools of themselves and Val giggles, Blake's warm hand closes over mine. His head dips until his mouth is next to my ear, and suddenly, I can't breathe. My heart is beating so fast, it might break another rib. Everything from his touch to his sandalwood cologne has me almost hyperventilating — I'm honestly afraid of the reaction he draws from me.
"Is it too forward to say you've been on my mind lately?"
My eyes close, heat pools between my legs, and I lock my knees together as I perch on the edge of the stool -- my shoulders and spine straighter than a rod. I've been thinking of him too, despite what I saw on Instagram. I can't help it; he's gorgeous. This is the kind of moment I fantasized about, but now that it's here, I don't know what to do with myself.
"You're very quiet. Are you alright?"
I nod, still unable to speak. Does he know what he's doing to me; how my heart is thumping faster that the Energizer Bunny on crack? With shuddering breaths, I slowly turn in a half circle until I'm facing him at an angle, keeping my hands clenched in my lap. "I—"
I what? I want to straddle you? I shouldn't be doing this? Talk about a paradox and a half.
Swallowing hard, I force myself to meet his eyes. He seems nice by the way he offers to order food and with how he came to see me in the hospital, but looks can be deceiving. As much as I hate confrontation, I need to be honest with him and end it now before he thinks he can take a mile.
"Blake, erm, Doctor Cole, I don't think this is a good idea," I murmur.
He wraps a loose strand of my hair around his finger, zapping every sensitive area of my body with lightning. If he keeps doing this, I'll combust on the spot in a completely different way. His dark blue irises remain fixed on mine as my gaze darts to his obscenely full lips. I also can't help noticing how his bicep flexes with such a small action. He could break me in half right here if he wanted to.
His voice is low, confident, but not at all demanding; only curious. "How come? Are you seeing someone?"
That was laughable. I haven't been on a date in months. "No."
"Are you into women?"
My cheeks burn at the blunt question. That's Val, who loves everyone. I can barely stand myself. "I like men," I whisper, wondering if I'll die in the next few minutes from mortification.
A noiseless laugh escapes his lips and he shakes his head with an exasperated smile. Like everyone else, he probably finds me frustrating and wishes he never asked. Either that, or I'm a new conquest because I present a challenge. "Then what? Are you not interested?"
When I don't immediately respond, he props his arm on the bar and watches me with a rounded, hopeful expression behind crystalline blue irises. Tracing his finger in lazy circles on the polished wood, he whispers, "I saw a notification that you'd followed me on Instagram. I have to admit I was a little disappointed when you unfollowed me right away. That maybe you were just shy."
Oh, god, why does the universe hate me? I can't tell him I only followed him by accident because I'd sneezed. And it's not that I'm not interested. It's that a beautiful woman with a giant engagement ring is in a lot of photos with him, and I don't know yet if she's a relative or his wife.
I swipe my tequila from the bar, downing it in one swift gulp. I need liquid courage for this conversation. "I'm sorry, but I don't date married men," I finally reply, a bit too loudly.
Oops. That just happened.
The trio behind me suddenly stops speaking, and I can feel everyone's stares as Blake's smile slides off his face. His lips part and his eyebrows reach the sky, but I'm firm in my answer, lifting my chin a fraction to let him know I'm serious.
He moves his mouth to speak when one of the men, Brett, I think, speaks instead with a boisterous laugh. "Blake?" He scoffs as if it's the funniest thing he's heard all night, and I'm sure the alcohol isn't helping. "Sweetie, if he was married and going to cheat, he'd do it right with someone a little more in his league."
Blake's eyes squeeze closed and his jaw visibly clenches while my heart feels like someone ran a javelin through it. Liquid splashes behind me, Brett yelps, and a loud thump follows. I turn to see Val towering over a red-faced man on the floor, holding a tube of mace in her hand.
Her smile is long gone, replaced by murder in her eyes, and venom drips from every word. "I'll have you know that Kelly is a hundred times better than any of you deserve. Only a shallow pig would disrespect her, especially on her birthday. Now get the fuck off the floor and go find another table."
Brett scrambles to his feet and paws at his swollen skin. Tears stream down his cheeks as he whimpers, "You're crazy!"
Oh dear...
Rage dominates her features, from her bared teeth to her heeled feet planted shoulder-width apart like she's about to kick him in the nuts. "You wanna see loco, chiquillo?"
Without giving him a chance to respond, she grabs his junk and twists, making him scream. Not gonna lie though; that makes me cringe too and thank Mother Nature I don't have a set of jewels.
Ajay wisely backs away as Blake winces and shifts in his chair, pressing his thighs together. Neither seem willing to come to Brett's defense, leaving him to Val's wrath. Even the bartender has disappeared.
Curling her lip in a sneer, she snarls with the ferocity of a jaguar, slipping deeper into her accent. "You might think you're God's gift, but let me say something to you: Toxic. Isn't. Attractive. Now get lost before I stomp on your shit and make sure you never have children."
There's no reason left for me to remain here. My festive mood evaporated the moment I humiliated myself when I incorrectly assumed Blake was married. Why would he be married when his friends are selfish jerks, looking for a good lay? I kind of wish Blake had been married. Anything is better than what Brett just said to me.
I reach into my purse for my wallet, but Val beats me to paying the tab, slipping a twenty into the tab glass before linking her arm with mine and pulling me away. "Let's go, angelita."
No matter how much I try to hold the tears at bay, they burn my eyes the moment I reach the door. I'm not dramatic enough to sob over it, but my nose swells with sniffles as my throat tightens with hiccups.
Val wraps her arm around my waist, holding me close until the rideshare arrives. Together, we slide into the car, where I immediately curl into her, resting my cheek on her shoulder. The shock has finally worn off, but the pain of feeling like I've been slapped hasn't.
So much for a happy birthday. Next year, I should ask Val to burn the house down.
***
Chiquillo — 'little boy': Slang to imply immaturity in a man or teenager.