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By: Jess
“No.” He didn’t seem convinced with that. “Knowing who I am doesn’t turn you on? Not even a little?” I set my glass down gently on the table. “Why? Should it?” “Just…” He leaned back and shrugged noncommittally. “Most girls you know that’s their deal. That’s the reason they sit down, attempt to make conversation, hell come up to me to begin with,” he stated honestly. His eyes leveled with mine, “Who I am gets them off.” His head tilted, analytically accessing me at the statement, “So you know…” My head did some tilting of its own at the presumption in that. “I see,” I replied tartly. “You think you’re my cheap thrill for the night?” I questioned, but not expecting an answer because somehow I already knew what he was thinking. Call it a common sense deduction, one that coerced my mind into spinning an even more audacious thought. “What does that make me to you then?” I wondered aloud. “Rockstar privilege?” “Didn’t say that.” My eyebrow lifted up that he didn’t seem fazed by the turn of conversation. “A guy thing?” I prompted even further. He did that shrug again, “Just a question.” “Because it’s what you think?” I prodded. He rested his arm across the back of the seat, “What I tend to believe,” he answered without missing a beat. I folded my hands on top of the table. “That I’m talking to you because I want to screw you?” I stated matter-of-factly. He answered that idea without speaking. Instead, his fingers grazed his glass briefly, giving me some kind of non-committed sign indicating that’s exactly what he thought, before he took a sip of his drink. It was more than obvious that he’d played this game more than enough in this lifetime, and at this point he wasn’t even trying to hide the notion in any polite manner. Wasn’t he a cocky shit? Fame didn’t change me, my ass. I shook my head lightly. “You would,” I said soundly. “You wouldn’t?” My hands unfolded themselves and braced down flat against the small table at that line of questioning. “You want to know the reason why I’m here right now, with you?” He studied me a moment, probably already hearing my dialogue in his head, so sure of the words that he’d be met with, before silently nodding his assent. “Alright then,” I agreed empathetically. “The only reason I’m still here, talking to you, is because this is probably the first time I’ve been able to speak with an attractive guy without thinking in my head ‘oh god he must think I’m a dork’ every time I say or do something. And before you even ask, I don’t believe for one moment that it has anything to do with some clichéd notion of fate, destiny, or some connection on a mental level, that has me thinking that I’ve been looking for you all my life. Because let’s face it. We’re two people in a crowded bar whose conversation hasn’t been the prolific kind, and hasn’t even lasted more than,” I stopped my response to check the table. “Two drinks,” I counted aloud. “Truthfully, I think that the only reason why this conversation is even taking place at all is that subconsciously I’m figuring that even if I do anything considered remotely embarrassing, it won’t even begin to compare to, what I’m more than positive, is the extremes that the million and a half girls that you said so eloquently, ‘get off’ because you’re who you are, do to you, or have done, on a daily basis to get your attention.” My chin lifted slightly and I took a breath as I leaned back in my seat. “That is why I am sitting here talking to you. Though, at this point on, I don’t have an inkling of a clue why, or if I’ll remain sitting here, then again…this has probably been the most interesting conversation I’ve had all night, so I probably will.” My tongue darted out to wet my lips, as one of my hands found its way back into my lap, and the other wrapped around the glass I had set down earlier, meeting his stare, head on. “You believe that?” The tirade earned me half of a smile, before he went and did that shrugging thing again, and took a quick drink. “Even if I didn’t, and thought the entire speech was practiced…” he trailed off, loosening his hold around that glass. “ I’d still give you bonus points for delivery.” He leaned forward, closer to me. “I still think though, that in some small way, talking to me is getting you off, even if just a little.” He settled back on his side. “You believe that?” Part
Two: Alcoholic Truths |