I’m at work, and I’m feeling uninspired in the New Year.
We had a really fun Jersey Shore–themed New Year’s Eve couple shower. Everyone took it as an excuse to dress slutty, drink too much, and fist pump. I’m praying the horrible orange spray-on tans everyone got will wear off by the wedding!
In Joey’s brilliance, he decided that, rather than make everyone buy us a “stupid” shower gift, they should bring us something practical.
And what’s more practical than alcohol?
Now, we have a fully stocked bar from numerous people who had invited themselves to come “break in” our new house. Phillip acted just like a bride usually does at her showers. He was oohing and aahing over every bottle of alcohol. He almost got tears in his eyes when Blake and Logan presented him with an “amazing” and expensive bottle of tequila.
I didn’t really drink much at the party. I don’t know what’s been wrong with me lately. I used to be able to party and have fun.
I think it might have something to do with my quickly approaching wedding. I also think it might have something to do with the fact that one thought keeps going through my mind. Over and over.
No matter how right things feel with Phillip, God is never wrong.
I can’t seem to shake the feeling of bursting into flames. Every time I close my eyes, I can feel the fire engulfing my body. I know God was burning me for saying Phillip and I were perfect for each other.
Why would he do that?
And, even worse, Phillip and I have another counseling session tonight. Our schedule got mixed up because of the holidays, and we haven’t been there for three weeks. Part of me wishes I could talk about it, but I don’t dare. Pastor John would probably have me committed, and Phillip would probably think I’m nuts and decide not to marry me.
I look down at the crap I’ve been drawing, wad the paper into a ball, and toss it into the trash.
Maybe I just need to get out of here. Maybe I need to be in a different environment to feel inspired.
I tell Phillip I’m gonna go to the Sheldon Museum of Art in Lincoln. He knows that’s a place I often go to when I need inspiration. I’m able to forget about my project and immerse myself in other people’s creations. Usually, when I do that—stop thinking so hard—the answers seem to come.
But, as I’m driving, I’m thinking I’m maybe looking for inspiration that’s more divine.
I think about which of my friends is the most religious.
No, that’s not right.
Which of my friends is the most open-minded, religiously? And, more importantly, who will not laugh in my face when I say God might have set me on fire?
That’d have to be Nick. So, I text him.
Me: What’s up?
Nickaloser: Just finished unpacking from the bowl game. Thinking about getting drunk.
Me: What happened to the whole “my body is a temple” and all that?
Nickaloser: Kickers aren’t really football players, remember? And, now that the season is over, I can have some fun. And I fully intend to.
Me: You know I was just teasing about that.
Nickaloser: Yeah, I know. So, what’s up?
Me: I’m on my way to Lincoln. Wanna hang?
Nickaloser: Heck yeah! Is Mac with you?
Me: He’s not. I’m going to the museum. Come with me?
Nickaloser: That doesn’t sound fun!
Me: Please! I need to talk about some stuff, and you’re my most open-minded friend.
Nickaloser: I find I’m at my most open-minded after a few shots. Meet me at the bar.
Me: Fine. Kegger’s? Are you going alone?
Nickaloser: No. I’m not a loser.
Me: You’re in my phone as Nickaloser. 🙂
Nickaloser: True. But I’m not a loner. Moose and Chaz are meeting me.
Me: Are they religious?
Nickaloser: Are you possessed? Do you need an exorcism?
Me: I don’t think so.
Nickaloser: Then, they will be fine. You freaking about Phillip?
Me: Uh …
Nickaloser: Fine. Museum first. Bar second.
Me: Thank you! Twenty minutes?
Nickaloser: Sure.
I walk up to the museum and see Nick standing outside, waiting for me. I adore Nick, and even though I love to tease him, he’s no loser. He’s adorable. Actually, don’t laugh, but when he kicks off the football, I don’t know, but the way he sorta skips and then, like, boom, kicks the ball is extremely sexy.
He and I had a very short-lived romance—well, maybe more of a booze-filled romance. It lasted all of about two weeks. I never slept with him; really, we didn’t do much more than kiss. The one night I thought things might go further, he threw up on my shoes as we were staggering back to his apartment. I spent the night with him, cleaning up his puke and constantly cursing myself for goading him into those last two shots.
He never asked me out again, but we became good friends.
I guess when you clean up someone’s puke, it sort of bonds you, but it also makes me wonder.
I greet Nick with a hug and blurt out, “Why didn’t we work out, romantically? Is it because I got you drunk?”
He laughs. “No, that woulda been a good reason to keep you.” He moves his head back and forth, like he’s thinking of how to say what he’s about to say. “There were a couple of reasons, I guess.”
“And they were?”
“I wasn’t going to listen to Danny’s warnings ’cause you were fun, but then Danny told me I didn’t stand a chance because you liked Phillip.”
“Danny was dumb. I was into you,” I say as I pay our admission into the museum.
We stroll through the gallery and look at the paintings.
“When it was just us, sure, but when Phillip was around, seriously, it was obvious who you were into.”
“No way.”
“You’re still delusional. And, no offense, but I just don’t see how a bunch of colors swirled around equals art.”
“Give me an example of how I was into Phillip when we were all sitting at the bar and I was running my hand up your leg. And it’s abstract. It’s supposed to evoke a feeling, not look like something.”
“Yeah, that turned me on. Like, you were this bad girl who wanted me and your boyfriend was sitting right there, clueless.” He laughs. “And the art is making me feel like I need a drink.”
“My boyfriend? That’s dumb. Phillip and I were just friends!”
“Jay, you freaking light up like a Christmas tree when you’re around Phillip. The way you two look at each other. The connection you have with your eyes? Seriously, I felt like a Peeping Tom, watching someone having sex. It’s intimate. Why do you think everyone thought you were having sex? Because you acted like you were. He’d lower his voice when he talked to you, and you hung on every word he said. At first, I thought he just crushed on you, but the more we all hung out, it was pretty obvious who had your heart. Danny was right. I couldn’t win. Plus, I was messing around with this hot girl from my sports medicine class, so I was cool with it.”
I stop and look at him. “You were two-timing me? I’m appalled!”
He laughs at me and shrugs his shoulders, like it’s no big deal. “Jay, we didn’t do anything. How could I have been two-timing you?” We stop to look at a bright, modern painting, and he changes the subject. “So, what are you freaking out about? And why the museum?”
“I always come to the museum for inspiration, and I do think contemporary art is the way to go in the new building. But, honestly, I probably shoulda gone to a church.”
“You need religious inspiration?”
“Nick, has a higher power ever spoken to you?”
He looks at me kinda funny, so I give him my pathetic look.
“Um, uh, no. Well, I don’t know. Maybe once, but I didn’t know if it was him or, like, my own brain.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been wondering! Tell me!”
“In high school, besides kicking, I played wide receiver. I got tackled when I was up in the air. Helmet to helmet, knocked me silly. I fell hard to the ground and had a concussion, and for a few scary minutes, I couldn’t feel my body. I thought I was paralyzed. They wrapped me up on one of those backboards and carted me off the field. My mind flashed, I can’t move. I’m paralyzed. Then, quickly, another voice that wasn’t my own flashed in my head. It said, You’re going to be fine. And then I, like, knew I was. At the time, I thought it was God’s voice, but who knows? So, did God talk to you?”
“I think he did in a dream. When I told my friend that Phillip was the one for me, he set me on fire and turned me into a burning bush. And, in my mind, it was like he felt that was blasphemy. And I’ve been having a lot of dreams that are, like, tragic. At first, I thought, you know, I’m freaking, but I don’t freak over guys. I really never have.”
“You never used to, but Phillip is different. You’re different with him. Probably because, for the first time in your life, you have skin in the game. You care about him. You’re in love with him. You want it to work. Plus, you’re planning a wedding, and you’re moving. Your stress is just coming out in your dreams.”
“I can see that with the other dreams I’ve had but not this one. I really don’t know if I should marry Phillip now. I’m almost positive God was trying to tell me not to, or he was threatening me or something.”
Nick bursts out laughing hysterically and extremely inappropriately for a museum. “You’re funny. You know that, right?”
“Stop laughing. I’m telling you this because you’re my most open-minded friend, and I thought you wouldn’t laugh at me.”
He regains temporary control, wipes tears from his stupid eyes, looks at me, and then starts laughing again.
I walk away, pretending to be intrigued by a Pollock painting.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out while trying to control his giggling.
“Are you high? What’s with the giggling?”
He straightens out his face and says seriously, “Kegger’s it is. I can’t have this conversation here.”
We leave the museum with very little architectural inspiration and zero divine intervention.
Maybe the bar is a good option.
We walk in Kegger’s, and there, behind the bar, is my favorite hot and former fairly regular hook-up, Bradley. He’s drying a glass with a white rag, and he has a phone cradled on his shoulder.
He looks irritated when Nick and I walk up to order drinks. But, when he sees me, his green eyes sparkle.
“Jadyn, baby, you looking for drinks or a little fun?”
Nick holds out my engagement ring and says with a tone that’s way too serious for a bar, “Definitely just drinks.”
Buzzkill.
Bradley says, “Phillip?”
And I am like, “How’d you know?”
“Well, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know who you’ve always had the hots for,” he says as he pours three tequila shots.
“Bradley, in this bar, I always had the hots for you,” I flirt.
Sorry, I can’t help it.
“You wanted to hook up with me, yes. But you’ve always had the hots for Phillip.”
“Of all the boys I’ve kissed in this bar over the years, you tell me I had the hots for the one boy I never kissed?”
Bradley ignores my question and raises his shot glass. Nick and I follow suit.
He says, “Here’s to hook-ups.”
“Hear, hear,” I say.
He pours us each another shot. “And here’s to finding true love. Congrats, Jadyn.”
“Hear, hear,” Nick says.
Bradley leans across the bar toward me and lowers his voice. “Although I’m still extremely available if you came here for a hook-up.”
Nick gets a disgusted look on his face. “We’re going to our booth. Bring us a pitcher, okay?” Then, he drags me away. “God, you’re a flirt, and what’s all the Jadyn baby bullshit?”
“I don’t know. He just always called me baby. It was cute, but I wasn’t flirting with him. I said one sentence, and it was about Phillip.”
“You said, ‘Hear, hear,’ to hook-ups. I’d call that flirting, considering you’ve hooked up with the guy on numerous occasions.”
“What, all of a sudden, you’re anti-hook-up? I’ll be sure to let all the girls who talk to you tonight know that.”
“That’s not a bad idea actually. They’ll think I’m a good guy and that I’m not looking for a hook-up. So then, when we do hook up, they’ll think it’s ’cause they wanted to. It’s like reverse psychology. You just might be brilliant. So, do you wanna go back and flirt with him? If you hooked up with him, I probably wouldn’t tell Phillip.”
“You’re such a liar. You would so tell Phillip, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t wanna flirt with or hook up with him! I’m engaged to be married! And I have enough to worry about. Plus, I could never cheat on Phillip.”
“You cheat on other guys?”
“Um, not on purpose.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Accidental cheating. Ha! This is why I love you. You make me laugh.”
Just as I say, “So, can we please get back to the burning bush?” Moose slides in the booth and says, “Ooohhh, I heard you had an STD, but I thought it was just a rumor. Does it really burn?”
Oh. My. Gosh.
Nick starts laughing hysterically again.
Seriously, can no one have a serious conversation anymore?
I should have known before I even opened my mouth that I couldn’t have a serious conversation with a guy named Moose, but I keep trying anyway. I mean, I drove all this way.
“Uh, no, I don’t. We’re talking about the religious burning bush.”
But he’s a boy. And, apparently, his mind is not on the religious side of the bush right now.
Bradley brings us a pitcher and three glasses just as Moose says, “I love hot bushes.”
That causes Bradley to sit down.
Why, oh why, isn’t the bar busy?
“My favorite subject,” Bradley says. “Are we talking about Jadyn’s? ’Cause I can speak from experience on that one.”
“Do tell,” Moose says.
And I’m not going to say what he said. If I told this story, our ears would probably bleed. Mine might be bleeding right now because I can’t seem to totally tune out Bradley’s discussion of my, uh, well … oh, never mind.
My ears just perk up though because he’s now telling Moose, Nick, and Chaz, who just slid into the booth, what it was like to have wild, alcohol-fueled sex with me. He’s telling them about the time I fell up his stairs. They all laugh about that.
People fall down stairs. They don’t fall up them.
But I’m getting nervous because I know what’s coming next in this story.
I try to get him off track by saying, “Chaz fell down the dorm stairs one time. It was really funny.”
They ignore me.
Bradley says, “She was kinda drunk when we got to my apartment. I was dragging her up the stairs with me, but she was giggling and kept kissing and grabbing me. I just wanted to get her to my room before she woke up my roommates. We were about halfway to the top when she fell up the stairs. She giggled and then pulled me down on top of her. It was hot.”
I tune out the rest. I know the rest. I possibly coaxed him into, um, doing it, uh, right there, on the stairs.
This is all allegedly, I might add.
He might be making it up.
Because, clearly, I was drunk.
At least, that’s what I’m gonna tell the boys.
I say, “I don’t remember that. Obviously, I was drunk, or maybe you’re thinking of another girl.”
Bradley seems hurt by this and slinks back over to the bar.
A few minutes later, I feel guilty and decide to go for a pretend pee.
As I walk by the bar on the way back from the restroom, I stop and ask Bradley for a round of shots.
While he’s pouring them, I confess, “Sorry about that. I do very vividly remember the stairs, and I wasn’t drunk. I just really wanted you, but you telling that story was pretty embarrassing. You know, talking about it in such graphic detail.”
“So, you do remember, huh?” He gives me a smoldering look.
“It was one of the hottest experiences of my life,” I say truthfully.
And it was.
Oh my gosh, was it.
His face lights up with a grin. “Me, too. You sure you’re not up for a replay of that, like, tonight?”
“Bradley, I’d never try a replay of that.”
“Why?”
“It was perfect as it was.”
“Mmm. True. I was so afraid my roommates were gonna wake up.”
“I don’t think I cared.”
“Yeah, that was the best part. We had fun, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“And, now, you’re getting married. Where is Mr. Wonderful anyway?”
“At work.”
“And why are you at the bar with a bunch of boys?”
I look back at the boys loudly discussing their sex lives and sigh. “Well, I went to the museum. Really, I’ve been trying to talk to Nick about the burning bush, but it’s not working because they keep turning it all sexual.”
“So, are we talking the religious burning bush? Like Moses saw?”
“Yeah.”
“You know my undergrad major was in philosophy, right? Next semester, I’ll finish up my doctorate.”
“Really? And here I thought, you were just the hot bartender.” Who knew he had brains, too? I sorta never got past the hot physical parts.
“So, talk.”
And I do.
It just all comes out. How cliché. Spilling my guts to the bartender.
“So, how do you know if God is speaking to you versus your own subconscious telling you something versus a premonition versus a warning versus a hunch versus an omen or versus your mind just freaking out?”
“Do you want my professional opinion?”
“Please.”
“Right off the bat, I’d say it sounds like you’ve been doing way too much thinking.”
“Yeah, probably.” I let out a big sigh.
“Tell me what happened.”
So, I tell him about the dream.
“Jadyn?”
“Yeah.”
“You driving home tonight?”
“I don’t know. Yeah, maybe. Well, probably. I mean, I haven’t really thought about it yet.”
“I know you pretty well and can see where this is heading. So, you’re not now. You can crash with me if you need to.”
I raise an eyebrow at him.
He says, “Okay, hang on.”
He walks over to the loser table, says a few words to Nick, and comes back.
“You’re staying with Nick. He swears he won’t do what I would do to you if I took you home.”
And, sorry, but my mind can’t help but think about the things that he’d do to me.
Oh, boy.
He grabs three bottles and simultaneously pours them into a shot glass. Then, he dramatically flips the bottles and hands me the shot.
“That was cool,” I say.
“Drink and then listen.”
So, I drink. “Mmm. That’s good.”
“Thanks. It’s my own creation. I still need to figure out a catchy name for it.”
“Okay, so back to my problem.”
“Baby, you’re freaking out about getting married. About having to love the same guy, sleep with the same guy, for the rest of your life. God is not speaking to you. God is not going to set you on fire. From what I can tell, you’re lucky enough to have found your true soul mate. You should be celebrating this, not second-guessing yourself. Plus, you’ve found true love with your best friend. That’s even cooler. Have you ever heard of Seneca, the Roman philosopher?”
“I don’t think so.”
“He said that love is friendship gone mad. You just had a bad dream. Don’t try to see something divine in it.”
My phone buzzes. I look down at it.
Phillip: How’s the inspiration?
Me: Very inspirational.
Phillip: Nick told me you’re at Kegger’s, doing shots with Bradley. That you’ve had quite a few shots already.
Me: Tattletale. Did he also tell you Bradley is getting his doctorate in philosophy?
Phillip: Uh, no.
Me: Like I said, it’s inspirational. Or maybe philosophicalish.
Phillip: I don’t think that’s a word. So, you’re getting drunk?
Me: Uh, not yet, no. I don’t think so.
Phillip: Nick says Bradley says you’re staying with either him or Nick tonight.
Me: He thinks I’m thinking about getting drunk. The inner workings of my mind are tricky, so it’s hard to predict.
Phillip: Do you want to go home with Bradley?
Me: No. I’m pretty sure.
Phillip: Pretty sure? Or FOR sure?
Me: I really haven’t thought about it yet. Um, let me think …
Phillip: Okay …
I don’t get to respond to Phillip because I was messing around with the philosopher’s hand, trying to steal a bowl of pretzels, and my phone sorta went flying out of my hand and into the bartender’s sink full of soapy water.
Bradley quickly fishes it out of the sink.
He takes the battery out, lays it on a bar towel, dries it off, runs in the back, and comes back with a Ziploc baggie. He tells me to run across the street to the Chinese restaurant and have them put rice in it for me.
I do and proudly come back with a bag of fried rice. I’m expertly eating it with chopsticks.
Kinda.
Bradley looks jealous, so I try to feed him some rice.
He shakes his head at me. “You’re so blonde. My waitress called in sick, and her replacement can’t be here for a few hours, so come stand behind the bar and look pretty. If someone comes in, just pour them a beer.” He goes in back, grabs another baggie, and runs across the street.
I eat my rice, and since no one comes in, I pour myself a beer and am drinking it when two cute boys come sit up at the bar.
“Beer?” I ask like the professional that I now am.
“Pitcher,” Cutie One says. “Are you new?”
“No, I’m old. I’ve been a regular at this bar for years.”
“Oh, we meant, are you the new bartender?”
“No, I’m just eating rice and drinking.”
I pour them a pitcher and have Cutie One come get it from behind the bar along with some glasses ’cause I’m kinda still eating. I finish my rice and am just doing a shot with the cuties when Bradley jogs back in.
“Oh, more rice for me?”
“Did you just do another shot? You need to stop drinking.”
I shake my head. “Just trying to do my job.”
Cutie Two says, “She’s really good at her job.” Then, he grins lasciviously at me.
Cutie One says, “Yeah, but she really should have on something sexier.”
Bradley is messing with my phone and the bag of rice. We all stop and watch. He puts my phone in the baggy full of uncooked rice and zips it up.
Cutie One says, “Dude, that doesn’t work.”
But Cutie Two disagrees, “Yeah, it does. Well, it worked for me. What happened to your phone?”
Bradley replies, “It’s her phone, and I’m pretty sure it could tell the way the night was headed and tried to commit suicide.” He takes the rice baggie over to the booth, drops it in my purse, and walks back behind the bar.
“Hey, maybe I should work tonight. Help you out.”
Bradley looks at me. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Oh, come on. I’ve always wanted to wear one of the server outfits. They’re so cute! It’ll be just like Halloween.”
“You remember last time you spent Halloween here?”
“Uh, mostly.”
“Hmm. I clearly remember your naughty little nurse outfit and how good it looked on my bedroom floor.”
Oh my.
The cuties are rapt with attention.
I change the subject. “So, is that a yes? Can I go change?”
He laughs. “Sure. Why not? Ought to provide us with some entertainment.”
I go in back and change into the server outfit. Little black spandex shorts and a black-and-white referee shirt that’s cut quite low in the front and doesn’t even attempt to cover my stomach. I add the tall white socks. Luckily, I wore black pumps with my dress today. I walk out, and all three of them whistle. I take a tray off the bar and go wait on my friends.
“Another pitcher, boys?” I ask.
I’m even expertly holding the empty tray on one hand above my head.
They grin at my outfit.
“You should work here part-time. We’d get free beer,” Moose tells me.
“I gotta get this on camera,” Nick says. “Say sexy.”
They send the picture to Phillip. I’m sure he’ll get a kick out of it. And my new career path.
Was I supposed to be texting him back about something?
Shoot, I forget. Oh well.
I take their empty pitchers and put them on top of my tray, lift it above my head on one hand, and saunter back over to the bar. I refill the pitchers from the tap and put them back on the tray.
I’m a little shocked that I’ve had a few shots and I am still functioning at peak-performance levels.
I did have a big lunch though, and fried rice must really be good at soaking up alcohol.
As I walk by Cutie One, heading over to deliver the beer, he decides it would be fun to smack my ass.
And, well, I might not have been prepared for it because it causes me to become slightly unbalanced, and I’m afraid the full pitchers become slightly unbalanced, too. And said pitchers might currently be crashing down, cascading beer on two cuties, who probably don’t deserve it but who are being soaked in beer as we speak.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I tell the drenched cuties as the tray falls out of my hand and clatters to the floor.
Bradley rushes around with towels and tries to dry off the cuties. He snarls at me about my lack of coordination.
“He slapped my ass!” I say, defending myself.
Bradley gets his serious half-bouncer, half-bartender look. “That true?”
“Uh,” the boy says sheepishly.
“You deserved it then,” he says as he throws the towels at them. He fills up a couple of new pitchers and carries them over to my friends.
As he walks past me, he goes, “I can’t blame the boy for smacking your ass. You look extremely hot.” He stares into my eyes for a beat. “Tell you what; you take the orders, and I’ll carry the drinks.”
“I like working here,” I tell him when he’s back behind the bar.
Whew. I’m starting to feel a little spinnyish.
Bradley hands me a tall drink over ice.
“What’s this?”
“Vodka and water.”
I taste it. “It tastes like straight water.”
“That’s because it’s made in Iceland. Very high quality. Very expensive, top-shelf stuff.”
“Oh.” I take another drink. “It’s good.”
A group comes in and sits at the high-tops in front of the pool tables. They’re already racking up a couple of games when I go take their order.
But, by the time I get back to the bar, I can’t remember it, so I say, “Two pitchers.”
Bradley takes them over.
He comes back and says, “They didn’t want pitchers.”
“Just tell them it’s happy hour, they’re cheap, and I was ordering in their best interests. I want more Chinese. Bradley, do you want some?”
Cutie One says, “I want some.”
“Dude,” the other one says, “I want some from you, too.”
“But I don’t have any more.”
Bradley says, “I think they want, um, some of you.”
“Oh, really? Why?”
“’Cause you’re hot and probably drunk enough to say yes.”
“I’m not drunk. And I’m engaged! Hey, this vodka is really good. I’m gonna go see if the pool guys want shots. I’m good at upselling, and I’ve changed my mind, Bradley. Order us some pizza from Val’s.”
“You’re not supposed to bring food in here.”
“I had hot, drunken sex with you on the stairs, and you just told my friends all about it. I think I can do whatever I want.”
“True.” He grins, and the cuties are like, “Uh … dude, details.”
While he tells the boys details, I suggest Jäger shots to my new pool-playing friends. I might have said they were on the house; I forget. Bradley gives me a tray of them, and since no one touches my butt, they arrive in one piece. I work my way back over to Nick, Moose, and Chaz.
“I ordered us pizza,” I tell them.
“They don’t serve food here,” Moose informs me.
“Oh, well, that’s just details,” I say back.
Nick gets serious. “Okay, let’s talk about the burning bush.”
But they have each had pretty much a pitcher apiece, plus shots, and they can’t be serious.
So, the talk turns to Moose’s recent sexual experience.
“Nicky!” I squeal. “Stop talking about boy parts.”
“You only call me Nicky when you’re trying to convince me to do something you know I don’t wanna do. The rest of the time, I’m Nickaloser.”
“Ah, you know I don’t really think you’re a loser. But, if it bothers you, I’ll make up a new nickname for you right now. Tonight. You’re so lucky! Okay, let’s see. Nicky, pricky, picky, slicky, dickey, mickey, hickey, kicky. Wow! A lot of good words rhyme with Nicky. Oh, I’ve got it! Licky, licky, make a hickey, have a quickie with Nicky’s dic—”
“Jadyn!”
“What?”
“Seriously, you can’t say that.”
“I can’t say dickey? A dickey is just a little fake shirt you wear under another shirt. Don’t be so sensitive.”
“Fine. It’s a great nickname, but it’s probably too long.”
“It’s long, huh?”
“Jay!”
“What? You’re the one who said it was long.”
“I meant, the name, not my, uh, part.”
I consider that for a moment. “Yeah, you might be right. I don’t think that would fit in my phone anyway.”
“You’re drunk. You get silly when you’re drunk, and then you’ll wanna start danc—”
“OMG! Nicky! I love this song!”
I start dancing a bit. I can’t help it.
I love this song!
Oh, maybe I said that already. Sorry.
“Nicky, come dance with me.”
“See? I told ya. And I don’t wanna dance.”
I do a little shimmy in front of him. “I guess I could go ask Bradley.”
“I’m such a pushover.” He sighs, acts like he’s doing me a big favor, gets out of the booth, and dances with me.
I twirl around, fist pump, do a little harmless grinding on Nicky.
“You’re so lucky that I’m a good guy,” Nick says.
“Why’s that?”
“You’re drunk.”
“Not any drunker than you are. You’re a good dancer when you’re drunk.”
Nick grabs me and pulls me in closer. “And you’re very naughty when you’re drunk. Bradley is totally watching you.”
“Really?” I kinda gush.
I turn around and look at Bradley, and he’s definitely watching me, but I’m not sure why.
“Jay?”
“Yeah?”
“The song is over.”
And I realize it is. New song. Not so good to dance to.
“Thanks for dancing with me, Nicky. Oh, hey, I gotta go. Bradley is waving at me.” I dance my way behind the bar. “So, Bradley, is there anything I can get you?”
Yes, I’m kinda flirting with him.
But I think it’s harmless.
Just-for-fun flirting.
“Yeah,” he says. “You can get naked.”
Uh, well, maybe not completely harmless.
Thankfully, a group of girls walks in. I leave Bradley to go wait on them, yummy vodka in hand. I suggest vodka to them, but they say they just want the bartender. Apparently, they’ve been trying to hook up with him but to no avail. And here I thought, Bradley hooked up with everyone.
I go back to the bar. “Oh, Bradley, sweetie, they only want you to wait on them.” Then, I whisper, “I thought you hooked up with everyone.”
“No, baby, just you. I don’t have a problem with hooking up. I just don’t with girls I meet on the job.”
“So, I was special?” I can’t help but grin.
He looks at me struggling with the tray and my high heels. “Yeah, special ed.”
The cuties laugh.
He works for tips though, so he goes and flirts with the girls and gives them false hope. But the false hope will keep them here until closing time. That’s a drill I know well. Although, in my case, I guess he gave in and took me home with him. I feel so lucky. Like I won the bartender lottery or something.
He comes back, and I say, “You’re pretty sexy when you get your flirt all on.”
“Come here. I need to show you something.” He drags me in the back room and pins me against the wall. “I’ll be glad to show you sexy if that’s what you want.”
He pushes his body up against mine. It feels familiar and sexy.
It also feels all wrong.
Has Phillip ruined me?
Am I never going to be able to flirt with or get turned on by another guy again? What if he dumps me?
I’ll have to become a nun!
“Bradley, can you become a nun if you’ve already had lots of sex?”
“Are we back to religion again? How ’bout I get off early, you come back to my place, and I’ll make you say, Oh God, over and over again?”
His long eyelashes bat at me, and he’s very hard to resist for two reasons. One, I can feel that he is in fact hard. And two … um, I forget what two was for.
Just as he leans in—I think to kiss me, a kiss I will somehow have to avoid—we hear, “Pizza’s here!” from the cuties.
Bradley stays pinned against me for a long second. Then, he shakes his head at me, throws an apron around the front of him, and walks out front.
I stay pinned against the wall.
And think.
Well, I try to think.
I love Phillip, but is loving him enough? Can I make him happy forever?
Will he get sick of me? Will our relationship fester? Will I smother him?
I don’t know any answers, so I go eat pizza.
Chow it.
Oh my gosh, it tastes so good. I even take a piece back behind the bar and let the girls drool while I feed pizza to Bradley. I let the cheese get all stringy and put it on his tongue.
After the pizza, I tell Bradley I’m thirsty for another shot. Bradley tells me I should do one of the special vodka shots, so I do.
Later, I’m over at the pool tables. One of the boys is trying to put a tip into my cleavage when Phillip walks in.
It’s like I’m a deer caught in headlights. I freeze.
I feel like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Except, in this case, I’m the slutty jar who’s letting everyone put their hands on her.
He gives me that look. That I am probably in trouble look, that my dad caught me seriously making out with my boyfriend on the couch after curfew kind of look. I feel like I’m in trouble.
But I haven’t done anything wrong.
Have I?
No, I haven’t. I’m just helping out a friend, delivering a few drinks.
Phillip doesn’t come talk to me or come beat the boy’s face in. He calmly sits next to Nick and eats a piece of pizza. I grab the tip out of the boy’s hand and go back behind the bar.
“Bradley! What am I supposed to do? Phillip just walked in, and that guy practically had his hand down my shirt.”
“Yeah, I saw that,” Bradley says.
“Who’s Phillip?” Cutie One asks.
“Her fiancé,” Bradley drawls.
“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Cutie Two says.
“You’re waiting tables. Helping me out. Tell him you were gonna slap the jerk, but you were afraid you’d get me in trouble.”
“Philosophers are good liars, huh?”
“We just see all angles of the truth.”
“We really should’ve done more talking.”
He laughs—well, he and the cuties laugh.
And they say, “Tell us another story.”
I walk away and think, with the way they’re all huddled together, he does.
I go to Phillip.
I figure I’ll stay in character, break the ice.
It’s all just fun and games.
Plus, you can’t get into trouble when it’s just fun.
In theory.
“Hey, can I get you a drink?”
“Only if I get to tip you like that guy.” He gets up, grabs me, and pulls me in close to his face. I think he is gonna kiss me, but he says quietly in his deep, mad voice, “You’re very lucky I didn’t go over and rip his hand off.” Then, he smiles and looks up and down my uniform. “You look damn sexy though. I suppose he couldn’t help himself.”
“You think I look sexy?”
“I do. So, you stopped texting me.”
“Oh, I knew there was something I was forgetting! But I couldn’t ’cause my phone got in an accident.”
“Oh, really? An accident?”
“Nicky, show him my phone!”
Nick holds up the baggie full of rice and my phone.
“See? It’s in rehab. Drying out.” I laugh. Ha-ha-ha. I’m veeerry funny! I crack myself up! “Get it? Rehab? Drying out?”
“How many shots have you had?”
I run my hand through my hair, thinking. “Uh, I’m not sure. Three, fourish, five maybe?”
“What are you drinking?”
I give him a taste.
“It’s water,” he says.
“Oh, no, it’s water mixed with this special vodka. High-quality, top-shelf stuff. That’s why it’s so smooth. You want one?”
“Nah, I think I’ll go talk to Bradley. Looks like your pool boys need more drinks.”
And then I come up with a brilliant name.
“Kicky Nicky! Get it? ’Cause you’re a kicker? And kicky can also mean, like, fun. And you’re always very fun, especially when you take me to the bar. Aren’t we having fun?”
“How ’bout we see if you remember it tomorrow?” Nicky says.
“Oh, okay.” I go wait on the pool-table group while Phillip walks up to the bar.
I realize that Phillip didn’t kiss me. That’s really not like him. And, now, he’s sitting at the bar, chatting with Bradley, who was just discussing my past sex life with the cuties.
Um …
I think this calls for an intervention. No, wait, I mean, an interruption. I don’t know. Whatever. I need them to stop their talking!
I walk up to Phillip and wrap my arm around his shoulders. “This is my fiancé.”
“We already know that,” the cuties reply in unison and give me shit-eating grins.
Shit is right.
Uh, what to say? What to say? Uh …
“Hey, Bradley, let Phillip try that special vodka and maybe one of those special shots, too. You know, the one you haven’t named yet.”
“I just decided on a name actually,” Bradley says. “It’s called Sex on the Stairs.”
Phillip says, “That’s a good name. I will definitely have one of those and a couple more pitchers.”
The cuties are snorting with laughter.
I shut my eyes.
I’m freaking dying inside.
Bradley winks at me. “The special vodka is just for you.”
“You’ll have to text me the name of it, so I can get some. I like drinking vodka that’s sooo smoothy-woothy.”
“Why don’t you take these to the pool-table group while I make you another one.”
I go, come back, and tell Bradley, “They want another pitcher and two more glasses. Oh, and more Jäger shots. I’m good at up-selling.”
Phillip says to the cuties, “Why are you all wet? Was it raining earlier?”
They tell him about my dropping the pitchers. About it raining beer all down their heads. They make it sound like I was just a clumsy, klutzy klutz.
I stand up for myself. “I only dropped them ’cause I was startled when he smacked my ass!”
Phillip narrows his eyes at the cuties and stands up.
All six foot three inches of prime Nebraska beefcake.
My God, that boy is hot.
I’m feeling a little warm myself. Shots make me kinda horny if I’m completely honest.
He says, “Don’t do it again.”
The cuties cower slightly. “No problem.”
Phillip takes his Sex on the Stairs shot and the pitchers over to the booth.
“Seriously, Bradley? Sex on the Stairs?”
“Yeah, I just decided it was the perfect name. It’ll catch on, and, baby, you’ll be famous … or infamous—something like that.”
“I don’t wanna be famous.” I pout. “I think I’ll just go get drunk with my friends.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re already there.”
“Already where? No, I’m not there yet. I was just saying, I’m going to go get drunk with my friends.”
“Never mind, but you can’t. You’re not off work yet. My waitress isn’t here.”
“I’m just pretending to work. I think you know that.”
“Well then, you need to go in back and change, and I’d better help you. Make sure you get it all off.”
“Uh, maybe I’ll just keep working.”
“Thought so.”
I go eat another piece of pizza and pretend wait on Phillip’s table.
Phillip gets back up, grabs me, and kisses me deeply. “You’re drunk,” he says.
“Not really. Like, maybe, sorta.”
“And what in the world was Bradley talking about? Your burning bush? Do I even want to know?”
Ack! Why did Bradley have to tell him that? I cover my face with my hand. “Uh, not my, um, uh, I had a dream. I became a burning bush. Literally burst into flames. God was punishing me.”
Phillip peeks through my fingers and moves my hand off my face. “For what?”
I make a sad face. Well, I try to. “Um, you.”
“Me? What did I do?”
And, okay, so I might be a little drunkish ’cause I usually don’t gush over a boy like this unless I’m drunk. “Made me fall hopelessly and irreversibly in love with you,” I tell him sweetly.
“So, why were you burning?”
“’Cause God thought my being in love with you was against his wishes, I think, and so he burned me. I was being blasphemousious. Is that a word? No, wait. I was blasphemic. No, that’s not it either. Nicky, what is that word?”
“Blasphemous.”
I snap my fingers and point at him. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s what I was. Good job, Nicky.”
Nick says, “Yeah, she turned into a”—BAHAHAHA—“burning bush.”
They all start laughing again.
Well, all of them but Phillip. I’m thinking God burning me because I’m in love with him is probably not very reassuring in regard to and concerning our future.
Really, I’m sorta having a hard time thinking exactly, but whatever.
Phillip turns around and grabs his shot. “I think I’m gonna need this.” To the guys, he says, “Hey, did Bradley give you guys one of these shots? He says it’s something new he came up with. I mean, I’ve heard of Sex on the Beach before but never Sex on the Stairs.”
Now, the boys have the deer-in-the-headlights look. They freeze and watch Phillip throw back the shot.
He says, “Damn, that was good.”
“So we’ve heard,” Nick says slyly and arches an eyebrow at me.
Thankfully, Phillip changes the subject. “Okay, so back to God. I think you’re having bad dreams because you’re nervous about marrying me. Are you nervous about marrying me?”
“Uh, I don’t think so. I’m doing great on the planning, and I’ve been having fun with it. We’re planning the best party! Right?”
“Yeah, but it’s more than a party, right?”
“Yes, and so that’s why I came to the bar after the museum. To talk to Nicky. To see if I’m having, like, a premonition or something. I mean, you don’t want me to burst into flames at our wedding. It would sorta ruin the event.”
He chuckles. “Well yeah, it probably would put a damper on things.”
“I’d watch out for lightning if I were you, Phillip. Oh, hey, I’ve gotta go work. The cuties are yelling for me.”
“The cuties?”
“Oh, yeah, Cutie One and Cutie Two. I don’t know their names.”
“Bradley seems to be awfully cool about this. Is he hitting on you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“JJ,” he warns.
“Uh, no, well, I don’t know. Nicky, has Bradley been hitting on me?”
“Definitely flirting. No, that’s not right. He said, if you wanted to hook up, he’d have no problem with that,” Nick tells us.
“So, you know, not really,” I say.
“I see.”
“Why are you here anyway? It’s a long drive just for beers.”
The cuties wave their empty mugs and yell at me.
“Wait, hold that thought. I think they want me to do a shot with them.”
“How many shots have you had again?”
“Uh, Nicky? We had two when we got here, right? I had a special one, and, uh, maybe a couple more mixed in there somewhere, but I mean, I’ve been here for, like, hours, and I had rice in a baggie and some pizza. It’s not like I’m drunk.”
He looks at me. Gives me that glare. That tell me the truth glare. You know the one, the one that makes me spill my guts to him. Always.
“Fine, I might be tipsy. Maybe a little drunkish. I can feel it, but you know, I’m fine. Pretty much fine.”
“I don’t think you should do any more shots.”
“Oh my gosh, Phillip, I’m earning tips here.”
“If that guy puts another tip down your shirt, I’m pounding him. Just saying.”
I go up to the cuties. “Jeez, what? You have no patience.”
“We’re empty. Bradley said you have to wait on us. We think Bradley might be jealous.”
“Bradley?”
“Hey, you wanted a job. Just making sure you do it. What did Phillip think of the shot?”
“He said it was really good.”
Bradley winks at me. “Yeah, baby, it was.”
“You should totally do it with the bartender again. He wants you,” Cutie One says.
“You’re just taking his side, so you can get free drinks. Can I get you a drink?”
“A couple of shots for us and one for you, too.”
I turn and tell Bradley, “Three shots, please.”
“You can’t have any more shots.”
I love how boys think they can tell me what I can and can’t do.
“Why not?”
“You’re working. I can’t have you any drunker than you already are.”
“What did you say to Phillip? Or what did he say to you?”
“Just guy talk.”
“Guys don’t talk; they threaten.”
“No, he didn’t really. He’s cool. Unfortunately, I like the guy. I was just telling him about your special vodka.”
“Oh, good. He can buy me some for home.”
“I think he already has some at home.”
The cuties giggle.
“What?” I ask the cuties.
“Nothing,” they reply.
Bradley says, “So, what did you decide? You coming home with me tonight?”
I start to feel sad. I feel like my fun single life is ending. It’s like the end of an era. And I want the era to end. I want to marry Phillip, but I don’t know if he should want to marry me. If he was smart, he wouldn’t.
I get little prickly tears in my eyes. “Phillip wants to marry me. I don’t know why he does. Look at me.”
Bradley takes the opportunity to do just that. His eyes slowly survey every inch of my body. I want to tell him that I meant, look at me, like, I’m a mess. I wasn’t telling him to actually look at me.
When he works his way back up to my eyes, he says, “You’re fun. Maybe you should ditch him and start a relationship with me.”
“Relationships are like a disease, Bradley. You should think twice before you go getting into one. Did you know, if you’re not careful, they will fester on you, infect you, and smother you? Then, I’m pretty sure you die.”
“If you feel that way, maybe God was trying to tell you something. In fact, if you listen really hard, he will probably say, Go home with Bradley tonight.”
To which the cuties raise their voices high and whisper, “Go home with Bradley tonight. Go home with Bradley tonight.”
“See? God just spoke to you.” Bradley smirks.
“I’m not that drunk,” I tell the cuties.
Bradley pulls me toward the other side of the bar, away from the cuties. “What’s all this about festering and infections?”
The tears start to fall now, and I can’t even stop them because the idea of my and Phillip’s relationship dying makes me really sad. It’s the whole reason I’m here. Plus, I might be drunk. “Pastor John told us that would happen to our relationship because we solve our conflicts with sex.”
“Don’t cry, baby. Sex sounds like a fun way to solve a conflict.”
I cry a little harder. “I know, but it’s wrong, and so we’re failing couples counseling. I’ve never failed anything, Bradley. But I am. And our wedding is going to be a disaster. Our guests will catch fire, be eaten by crocodiles, I’ll be pulled into the pits of hell because they don’t like my dress, my veil is going to burn, and I’ll run away with a fireman who looks just like Phillip, straight down to his abs.”
Bradley says, “I think you should go change now.”
I sniffle. “Okay.”
I go in the back, change, and try to compose myself.
When I come back out, Bradley has a special vodka shot for me. He toasts, “Here’s to good memories and a happy future. Your wedding is going to be amazing. None of those things are going to happen, I promise. Now, go sit with your fiancé.”
So, I do.
Phillip takes me home. We don’t have sex on the stairs because my condo does not have stairs. But I’m drunk enough to be feeling quite naughty, and Phillip doesn’t seem to mind that at all.
