Getting Distracted
I'm fed up with the walls of my office. It's small, it has no windows, and I've been here all bloody day. I don't want to take my work home, because my office space there is too messy to work in and if I try, I'll get stuck on that and nothing will happen.
So I pack my book, pencil, and post-its into my handbag and I go to the bar instead. My regular bar is a quiet little place, more like the pubs I remember from my term in England, and the bartender, Clive, never gives me grief for occupying a whole table to myself. I open a tab and take my pint over to my favourite spot.
A spot that's already occupied.
Dammit
.
I like that spot. It's cozy and the light is good and I can't see any tv screens directly from there. It's a lot easier to work without basketball players darting to and fro in my peripheral vision. Internally grumping a bit, I take the next best table. It'll do. I guess.
I pull out the post-its and book and start trying to read. My review was due earlier this week and I'd really like to get it in but I can't help sneaking a look over at the person occupying
my
table. (I know it's not actually
mine
, but my brainweasels are sulking nonetheless.) Currently there's only one person sitting there, a woman about my age. She looks like some sort of professional, an office-type. A glass of something, maybe coke, sits in front of her and she's frowning at her phone in concentration.
I realise I'm staring a bit and turn back to my book and try to focus. A blue team and a purple team bounce around the screen that I can't quite block out from this sub-optimal angle.
The ale is good tonight and I begin to relax into a groove. I'm skeptical of the claims the author of the book is making, and slowly the book fills with post-its. Too many, but I'll pare them down later. Blue Team seems to be in a huddle when I look up at a chapter break.
Is my table free yet?
Nope. She's still there. Rats.
She's still alone, though. Usually it's just me that sits around like a nerdy gremlin occupying a table solo. I look a bit closer - her drink is nearly empty, and she's still frowning at her phone, except her expression is resigned and... disappointed? My eyes flick to her hands. No ring. It may not mean anything, but I feel a stab of sympathy for what looks like a date stood up.
She still seems intent on her phone, so I let myself stare a bit longer. She's pretty. Shoulder length hair that auburn shade that I wish I could dye my own - very dark - hair. Curvy. Her glossy lips look soft. Kissable.
My cheeks go red as I realise my curiosity has shifted to "checking out". I close my book and rub my face. I doubt my brainweasels will let me get back to my book now as long as she's here. When I look up, Purple Team scores.
I sneak another look over at
her
. She really is pretty.
I need another pint.
At the bar, my impulsivity strikes. "Give me another pint," I tell the bartender, "and one of whatever the woman over there ordered."
He raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. "Shut up," I mutter, making him grin. It's a good thing he pulls a good pint, the jerk. He also pours a rum and coke and passes it over. "Good luck," he says as I turn away. I ignore that.
Halfway to her (my) table, my brain catches up to my impulsivity. There's a lightning-fast series of calculations that flash through my head: I'm an idiot, she might not be into women, but I already bought the drink, Clive is almost certainly watching me, if I chicken out I'll hear about it every time I order something in the future, I'll have to find a new bar, it'll be harder to work, I'll get fired...
And here I am at the table, drinks in hand, better to be embarrassed in front of a stranger than lose my post-doc.
"Um, hi?" I say, smooth as ever.
She looks up, forehead wrinkling a bit. "Hi?"
"I'm sorry, I don't want to bother you if you're busy, but you were looking sort of disappointed and I impulsively bought you a drink." I hold it out. "Want some company? Enjoy the drink regardless, though. I don't want to be bugging you."
God I'm so awkward.
She takes the drink and I try not to blush as she considers this complete stranger standing in front of her.
"Yeah, sure," she answers. "Why not? I was planning on drinks with a stranger tonight anyway. Have a seat!"
"I, uh, didn't think this through very well. Give me just a second to grab my stuff, I'll be right back." I plunk my own drink onto the table and quickly grab my book and hurry back.
"Sorry," I say again, sitting down. "I didn't want to be taking up a second table, it just seems rude. Hi."
We introduce ourselves. She says she's in town for a conference and made herself a blind date on a dating app on a whim. The jerk cancelled on her after he was already late. No explanation. I'm deeply indignant on her behalf.
I'm trying not to hit on her, because as far as I know she's just into men. But her voice is warm and rich and up close her eyes are so alive.
She tells me about her conference. I have to say, my academic conferences sound far more entertaining. Then again, a bunch of historians nattering about Pliny the Elder probably sounds equally dull to most people. No, wait, she thinks her conference is tedious too - hence the date. Makes sense to me!
Am I smiling like a dork? What's the right smile for this situation? I know
nothing
about what she's explaining but her excitement about her job is contagious, once we move away from the conference (ah, it's a mandatory thing her company puts on, just at a satellite location).
Then she asks me about myself. I do my best not to completely nerd out at her about my research, but she keeps asking questions! And her interest seems genuine! I tell her about the book I'm supposed to be reviewing, and she laughs as I explain how I need to change up my environment to keep my brain on task. Honestly, even if she's not into women, I hope we can exchange contact info because she's just enjoyable company.
"You know, I think I'm glad I got stood up tonight."
Her voice shatters my internal narration.
"I'm glad you did, too."
Shit
. "I mean, I'm not glad you got stood up, but I'm glad I got to meet you! It's been a much nicer evening than I expected! But obviously getting stood up sucks!" I pause my slightly panicked verbal flailing because she's laughing. "I'm sorry, I told you I was kind of awkward," I say ruefully.
"It's alright," she reassures me, grinning. "I got what you meant. I'm having more fun, too."
She sips her drink and leans in conspiratorially. "Honestly, I hope you won't judge me, but I was planning to have a quick drink and a mediocre hookup. I'm bored to death this weekend, and I figured what the fuck. Pun entirely intended. I wasn't expecting to actually
