Bobby and Carl were old college buddies. They lived in the same dorm for three years and they partied together, played intramural sports together, and sometimes even studied together. Carl was a year ahead of Bobby but they ended up graduating at the same time. Once they graduated they worked multiple jobs for a few months to save money, and then piled into Bobby's car and traveled the United States for almost six months. Sharing that experience pretty much bonded them for life.
They were opposites in many ways. Bobby was blond, tall and lean-muscled, a ballplayer, a runner and a musician; Carl was dark-haired, stocky and had been an amateur boxer and had a crooked nose as a result. Bobby was into music and the arts and liked to camp and hike; Carl liked to work on cars, go hunting and fishing and stay at the Best Western. In their college afterlives Bobby was a sales rep for an athletic wear manufacturer and played music on the side; Carl was a manager for a firm that refurbished metro buses. But they were good friends, shared the same sense of humor, and made it a point to get together every few months for a night out.
This story begins on one of those nights. Carl and Bobby were 26 and 25 years old, and it was a Friday night, the day after Thanksgiving. They decided to meet at one of their old hangouts, The Vous, a pub near the university campus where they'd gone to college. It was a place that had a beer and wine license, but sold no hard liquor. It was known for cheap pitchers, live music and a high threshold for craziness, at least back when they were in school.
Bobby lived about forty-five minutes away from campus and Carl lived an hour away in the opposite direction so they drove separately and met out front of The Vous. They went inside to the bar, ordered two bottles of beer and a pitcher of Coke, and then found a small table off to the side and took seats. The beers were mostly for show. The pitcher of Coke was for the bottle of rum Carl had stuffed in his jacket.
The place was dead for a Friday, which made sense since it was Thanksgiving weekend and most students had gone home for the holiday. Only two other tables were occupied in addition to a handful of regulars at the bar. There was a trio setting up on stage. While Carl surreptitiously stirred rum into the pitcher of Coke, Bobby went over to the band to introduce himself, as musicians are wont to do. He wanted to see if they had any mutual musical friends.
Carl filled one of the tumblers the beertender had given them with Coke from the pitcher, then cradling the pitcher in his lap, emptied a third of the rum into it. Meanwhile Bobby talked to the guitarist and admired his instruments. As it turned out, they didn't have any mutual acquaintances but they dug a lot of the same stuff. It was a blues-rock band, and Bobby had grown up on that.
Bobby sat back down at the table with Carl and they commenced to shooting the shit, sipping beer and chasing it with Cuba Libres. They talked about the usual stuff they talked about when they got together: jobs, sports, women and college. Finally, after about twenty minutes the band kicked it into gear. Immediately Bobby could hear that the band was really tight and thankfully not ear-bleeding loud. That was good he thought, especially with the mostly-empty room.
It looked like it was going to be a slow night at The Vous. Only a few more people had come into the place after Carl and Bobby. There was a table of four, two couples seated in a booth on the far side, and two girls at a deuce not far from their own table.
Carl nudged Bobby when he noticed the two ladies and tilted his head in their direction. "Hey Buddy, check it out," he said. "Hard left rudder, we got two hot ones."
The girls were fine looking and were sharing a carafe of wine. One was blonde, with shoulder-length frizzy curls, and looked to be in her early twenties. The other was a few years older but looked just as delectable, with the same frizzy hair, only she was brunette. Both were slim and sexy in tight jeans, Blondie with a snug red sweater and the older gal in a cream-colored blouse. Both looked good enough to eat, and somewhat out of place at this dump.
"They must be sisters," Bobby said.
"Sisters? Really?"
"Yeah, look at their eyes. They have the same eyes. Same mouth too."
Carl tried to look without staring. "Well, I don't care if they're sisters, or cousins or hookers, they are fucking hot! We need more ice," he said, and got up to go to the bar. Bobby figured he just wanted to get a better look at the chicks.
Bobby was applauding a guitar solo when Carl came back with a bowl of ice and some lime wedges.
"I ordered them a drink," Carl said as he sat down. The Vous was not known for reliable wait staff.
"You did?"
"Yep. Bartender's going to send them over in a few minutes when they're ready for refills."
"Smooth!" Bobby said, and filled their glasses over fresh ice. "Drink up!"
Carl dumped the rest of the ice into the pitcher and poured in another healthy dose of rum. The refreshments were going down easy and Bobby was getting into the music, tapping his feet and rapping his thumbs on the table. The rhythm section was a meaty, steady pulse and now the guitarist had switched to electric violin and was knocking off blues licks with his bow and his fingers.
"This band is good," Bobby said when the tune ended.
"Hey, look," Carl said, nodding toward the girls.
The bartender was delivering the new carafe of wine. They watched as he explained who'd sent the drinks and pointed toward them. The girls both looked over at them and with coy smiles raised their glasses in thanks. The band kicked into a slow blues and the lead guitar moaned.
Over the rest of the set they would glance over at the girls and occasionally eye contact would be made. At one point the brunette got up and went to the ladies room. Carl and Bobby had their eyes glued to her tightly-wrapped butt until she disappeared down the hall to the restrooms. Then they glanced at the blonde, who was smiling and shaking her head.
"Caught you!" she lipped, pointing at them.
Bobby and Carl blushed, shrugged and laughed. Then they raised their drinks and clinked their glasses.
"That's worth a toast!" Bobby said, loud enough for all to hear.
Just as the band went on a break, the brunette returned from the restroom and they were watching her. They were surprised when she made a beeline for their table.
"Hey guys, thanks again for the drinks. We wanted to return the gesture but what are you drinking? I see two empty beer bottles, but what's in the pitcher?" Her voice was low and breathy.
"Coke," Bobby said.
"Coke?" she said. "You kidding me? How can two young guys have as much fun as you're having drinking Coke?"
They looked at each other and laughed. Carl opened his jacket and showed her the bottle. "Rum and coke," he said softly. "Want one?"
She threw her head back and laughed. "Beautiful!" she said. "Two beers and a pitcher of Coke coming up." She strutted off to the bar.
Bobby looked at the blonde. She had a grin on her face.
"Hey, do you mind if we move over there," he said, pointing at the table next to theirs.
"It would be better than hollering halfway across the room," Blondie said.
Bobby and Carl hustled to the table with their glasses and pitcher. Soon Brunette returned carrying a tray with two beers, a pitcher of Coke and some plastic cups.
"Why don't we push these tables together," she said as she placed the tray on the table. "It will be easier to talk that way." So they did. Without asking Bobby poured their concoction into two cups for the girls.
Introductions were made. The brunette was named Summer and the blonde was named Bree.
"Those are interesting names," Bobby said. "Different. Unique."
"We're interesting women," Summer said with a wink.
"No argument there," Bobby said. "Were you born in the summer? Is Summer a nickname?"
"No, it's my real name. My mother is a holdover hippy."
"Ah, I see. And Bree...," he said, turning to her. "Is that like the cheese?"
"No, it's short for Breeze. My mom is a holdover hippy too."
"Right," Carl chimed in. "Because you're sisters, right?"
Summer and Bree looked at each other, smiling, and sipped their wine.
"You're very perceptive," Bree said.
"Really," he went on, "Because you look alike, you have the same eyes and the same mouth and I bet you get that a lot..."
"I'm her mother," Summer said, cutting him off.
Carl and Bobby were both caught off guard. They sat back in their chairs, taking it in.
"I never would have guessed," Bobby said. "Summer, you look like her big sister, maybe three or four years older!"
"Well," she chuckled, "I had her at a young age, but not that young!"
They all laughed. The ice had been thoroughly broken. The guys had inadvertently made Summer's night, and they could tell that Bree was proud of her hot mom. They all went on to learn about each other. Bobby and Carl told them about their college days and car trip and jobs and their occasional night out. Summer lived alone in a small house three blocks from the bar, and worked at the VA hospital and taught yoga and aerobics. Bree was twenty-one and was visiting for the long weekend. She lived in New York City where she had a day job at an art museum while she tried to make it as a dancer.
The night turned out to be a blast. They drank all the rum and danced and changed partners several times. Bobby sat in with the band on a couple tunes and slow-danced with Bree and Summer. He loved the feel and smell of both, and the touch of their tits against his chest, and was pretty sure it was no accident when their knees found their way gently between his thighs.
The eye contact they made, the smiles they shared, and the open conversation they had over several hours made this a special night. But as is often the case when there are two guys and two girls, it can be awkward not knowing the next best step. It seemed to be clicking on all levels, but as the night wound down, Bobby wondered where it would go next.
--
After the third set, Bree and Summer went to the restroom together. This is it, Bobby thought.
"So, who gets the old lady?" Carl said after they left.
"Hey, she doesn't look old to me," Bobby said, "She looks just about right."
"How old do you think she is?"
"I don't know. She said she had Bree when she was young. Bree's twenty-one. What, maybe thirty-nine or forty?"
"She looks damn good for thirty-nine or forty."
"Shit, she looks good for twenty-nine or thirty!" Bobby said.
--
In the restroom Bree and Summer were having a similar conversation.
"So, do you want to take them home?" Bree asked. "They seem like nice guys."
"Yeah, they are. Don't seem like axe murderers at all, do they?"
"Mom, are you ready for this?"
"I think so."
"What about that guy you were seeing? Mel, was it?"
