"I don't like this idea." Jemma twisted her hands in front of her, peering through the grimy window of the likely questionable bar she and Skye were standing outside of. She supposed no one was up to cleaning windows in the winter. Snow crunched under her boot as she shifted her weight around, and she pressed the soles of her shoes down harder with each step.
"It's two minutes per guy. You'll be fine." Skye waved her arm dismissively and reached for the door.
"What if one of them is a serial killer?"
"Don't pick him."
"Thank you. That's so helpful," Jemma deadpanned before shaking her head. "I cannot believe I let you talk me into this."
"Come on. It'll be fun." Skye bounced on her feet. "Besides, we already signed up! We promised Bobbi we'd fill in some of the spots."
Jemma sighed. Skye knew exactly how to guilt her into things. Of course she wasn't going to back out because she had promised Bobbi. Bobbi - who worked for a matchmaking service even though she was divorced from a man that she kept regularly going back to. Bobbi - who had begged Skye and Jemma to participate because she didn't have enough women sign up through the service that were looking for men.
This was supposed to be "girls' night." Instead, it had become "help Bobbi and make sure she doesn't lose her job night." Jemma had only agreed to participate on the condition that Bobbi provide her with plenty of drinks.
"Ugh. Why am I friends with the two of you again?"
"Because we're awesome," Skye joked, linking her arm through Jemma's and pulling her back toward the entrance to the bar.
As they walked through the doorway, Jemma was pleasantly surprised to find the bar both expansive and somehow cozy, decorated like an old speakeasy. She had expected something more like peanut shells on the floor and bikers at the bar tops. It wasn't that Bobbi's taste ran in that direction, it was just that she had mentioned something along the lines of "Please, I wouldn't even go into that place, but the bartender owes me a favor, so he talked the boss into letting me use half the bar for free."
Jemma fought the urge to hide her gloved hands in the pockets of her coat and duck her head down further in her scarf as Skye led them to the side of the bar where Bobbi was set up.
"Oh, thank god," Bobbi muttered when they walked up to her. She handed them each a sticker with a number on it and what looked like a comment card from a restaurant. "I've had five people call and cancel on me already because of the snow."
"We wouldn't do that," Skye told her cheerfully. "We promised, right Jemma?"
"Yes. That is correct," Jemma responded stiffly. She didn't add that they only lived a few blocks away, so it wasn't exactly like the snow would've been a huge obstacle for them.
"Jemma… I know you didn't want to do this. I really appreciate it."
"Skye keeps telling me it'll be fun," she said with a shrug, trying to pretend that sitting at a table and having 25 strange men tell her their life stories in three minutes or less wasn't something that made her want to run and hide. She went about unbuttoning her coat and winding the scarf from around her neck while she snuck glances around the room. She didn't see anyone who looked like a serial killer. Not that she would know what one looked like. All of the men were dressed, much like herself and Skye, as if they were just coming from work.
"So," Skye said, leaning against what was probably a wooden podium normally used for trivia nights, "what do we do?"
"You wear the numbered sticker so you're identifiable. No names. That way if someone missed anything in anyone's backgrounds, we hopefully don't have any stalking issues."
"Stalking?" Jemma interrupted, hesitant to put the '17' sticker on her blouse now.
"It was one time," Bobbi said with a wave of her hand. "Guy slipped through my radar. I took care of it."
Jemma's eyes were wide as Bobbi gestured to the tables behind her. "Pick a table, have a seat. You'll chat with a guy for three minutes, mark down the numbers of the guys you like best, and the guys move to a new table every three minutes. They have to do all the work to impress you. Nothing to it." Jemma didn't move from her spot as Skye flounced over to a table and slapped the sticker on her leather jacket. "Look, Jemma. You don't have to take this seriously," Bobbi whispered, leaning in close so no one standing around the room heard her. "I asked you and Skye to help to fill in spaces. Make something up and don't worry about putting any numbers down." She paused and smiled. "Unless you actually meet someone you like."
Jemma rolled her eyes. "Fine. Fine."
She walked away, carefully adhering the sticker to the front of her blouse. Intending to take a seat at the table next to Skye, she made her way over, but another woman plopped down before she got to the table. The woman smoothed her hands down her deep red dress with outlines of black roses scattered across it and smiled at her. Jemma smiled back and moved to a table a few spaces down, draping her coat and scarf on the back of the chair before taking a seat. She propped her chin in her hand and set her phone on the table, ready to fake an emergency or text Skye for help if she needed to.
"Can I get you something to drink, love?" She jumped in her seat at the familiar voice, and when she saw who was talking to her, she let out a giggle in response.
"Well, I guess now I know why Bobbi didn't have to pay to use the space."
"Yeah, yeah." Lance rolled his eyes. "The hellbeast called in her last favor."
"Sure," Jemma agreed. "Until next Friday night." She blinked up at him innocently.
"I was going to offer you a drink on the house, but now I'm not so sure." She continued to blink at him, the perfect picture of feigned innocence, until he caved with a roll of his eyes. "Fine, Jemma. What can I get you?"
She wrinkled her nose in thought.
"I can bring you a pint of Guinness if you can't decide," he joked.
She wrinkled her nose further and shook her head. Lance would suggest Guinness knowing the one and only time she drank it she ended up sicker than a dog the next day while standing in as a witness to Lance and Bobbi's city hall marriage.
"Vodka soda," she decided.
"Going straight for the hard stuff, huh? Looking forward to this 'bout as much as I am then?"
Jemma just sighed and sat up straighter in her seat.
"I'll keep 'em coming then."
-o-
20 minutes into the night, and Jemma drained the last of her drink before snapping up a pretzel from the bowl in front of her.
These men were idiots. What on earth had possessed Bobbi to think this was a good idea?
"So, what do you do," Jemma asked, trying to sound at least somewhat conversational for the next man seated across from her. She may have tuned out during some of what he was saying. The sticker that sat crookedly on his black t-shirt had a seven sloppily written in the middle of it.
"I'm a trainer at a gym."
"Oh. That must be… interesting."
He shrugged. "It's not bad. Keeps me in shape, I get to tell people what to do without feeling guilty about it." He laughed as though that was supposed to be a joke and Jemma raised her eyebrows, bringing her glass to her lips, but finding it empty. Lance was at her side, swiping it from her hand and delivering a new one before she could set it down. "No, really," the guy continued with a straight face, "it's nice, helping people achieve their goals, you know?"
"Yeah, sure." She took a sip of the drink and set it back down.
"What do you do?"
She gave him the same story she'd been feeding everyone all night - Bobbi had said she could make something up. "I'm a doctor. Pediatrician." She looked at the table as she said, wondering if she could grab another pretzel to get out of talking to him.
"No, you're not. You're lying."
Jemma shot her eyes up to him in surprise. If anyone else had known, they hadn't called her on it yet.
"No, I'm not." She chewed on her top lip, one hand playing with the straw in her glass.
"Yeah. You're too fidgety. You're definitely lying."
"Are you sure you just work in a gym?"
He laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure. But you get used to clients lying to you about their reps, the sweets they've eaten. I know when someone's feeding me a line."
"I am currently between prospects," Jemma informed him tightly. "Lost my job last week."
"Ah. Pediatrician sounds good then." He smiled at her.
She just tapped her finger on the top of her glass and waited for him to continue.
"So...have any pets?"
"No, my apartment is in a pet free building," Jemma said dryly. "You?" How much longer did she have to talk to him? It wasn't that he was particularly boring or anything, though they hadn't talked about anything that actually interested her either. She didn't like the way he looked at her though. Like he knew something she didn't, like that somehow made him better than her.
"A dog."
The bell rang and she breathed out an impatient sigh as he moved to another table. She craned her head to see if Skye was having fun, but she couldn't see her beyond that woman in the flowered sweater dress who was leaning forward across the table, eyes wide and alluring, looking like she was scaring the daylights out of the man across from her. Jemma bit down on a laugh at the older man's expression. He looked like he might have wanted to run.
Several rounds later and Jemma met a psychologist, an astrophysics professor, and a doctor, amongst others, each more eager than the last to try lines on her that made her wince or roll her eyes. Her vision also became progressively hazier as she sipped the drinks Hunter brought her. She checked the time on her phone, wondering when this would be over.
"Five minute break," Bobbi called over the din and the last ring of the timer. "Refresh your drinks, touch up your makeup, check on your kids, whatever. Just be back in five."
Jemma's drink may have already been refreshed, but she was getting sick of pretzels, so she took her glass up to the edge of the bar and slid onto a stool. "Lance," she whined when he walked by her and back behind the bar top, "do you have anything to eat in this place besides pretzels?"
"Drinkin' on an empty stomach, huh?"
"We didn't have time to stop for food," Skye informed him when she sidled up next to Jemma. Jemma felt the other woman squinting at her while she shifted around on the bar stool. "How many drinks have you had?"
"Two," Jemma said meekly, not telling Skye that the bar had become oddly brighter over the last couple of speed daters.
"Actually, that's her fourth," Lance said with a grin. "Didn't think you were such a lightweight."
"Well, it would help if you served actual food in this place." Jemma leaned forward to peer over the bar. "What are those? Onions?" She wrinkled her nose up at the container of pearl onions, likely a garnish for some disgusting drink that she didn't want to consider.
"Yes. I've also got… some fruit wedges, olives, maraschino cherries, and… uh…" Lance looked around, trying to see if there was anything else edible, gesturing with the orange slice clutched in a pair of tongs in front of him. "Hmm. Ice?"
Jemma grabbed the orange slice before he could move it away and bit into the fruit, but it was nowhere near sweet enough.
"Ugh." She pulled the slice from her between her teeth and set it on a napkin. "Skye. How much longer do we have to stay?" Jemma heard the words coming out of her mouth, but she chose to believe that this whiny petulant person was some alternate reality version of herself. Skye was supposed to be the whiny one.
"Not long. Here," Skye grabbed the bowl of cherries and shoved them at Jemma. "Eat some of these for now. Go back to your table." As Jemma slid off the stool and wobbled her way back to her spot, she sighed, but didn't grumble, reminding herself that she was doing this for Bobbi. She barely heard Skye say, "I'll pay you if you get us a pizza. I love Jemma, and she's tiny, but I'm not carrying her home."
"How much?"
"I don't know. I think I've got twenty bucks on me?"
"That'll pay for the pizza. What about me? And you just let her walk off with all my cherries."
"What? You guys don't keep them in bulk in the back?"
-o-
Jemma finished the bowl of maraschino cherries (and her drink) before the break was up, and looked forlornly at the glass in front of her.
Well, that just wouldn't do.
She shook the glass around experimentally, hearing the few ice cubes that were left clink around as Bobbi announced for everyone to take their seats again. She peered over in the direction of the bar, but it seemed so very far away, and someone dropped into the seat across from her, so she couldn't exactly get up - that would be rude.
Bobbi announced that the timer was being set again, so Jemma looked up at the man across from her.
"Oh. Hello." She offered a smile. "You are very symmetrical, aren't you?"
"I don't think anyone's ever told me that before?" He smiled back at her.
Propping her chin up on one hand, she asked, "So… what do you do?"
"Construction, mostly. Used to work in a steel plant. Paid a little better. But I gotta keep working, you know? I've got a son."
Jemma nodded as if she understood, but really she was more focused on the muscle definition she could make out underneath his jacket. He appeared to be in just as good of shape - if not better - than that personal trainer she'd spoken with earlier. And his smile seemed genuine, not condescending. She could handle talking to him.
-o-
"I think your skills are deteriorating. This doesn't taste nearly as good as the last drink," Jemma said, trying to grab Lance to give the drink back to him.
"That's because it's sprite," he teased over his shoulder. "I wanted to see you pass out at the table, but Skye told me to cut you off. Again." He hurriedly switched out other drinks from his tray at the tables along his route back to the bar while Jemma shook her head.
"Sprite." She sniffed. "As if I can't handle my alcohol."
"Yer still sittin' up. No slurrin'. Seem ta be doin' jus' fine ta me."
The voice across the table from her was a new one, and she quite liked it.
"Exactly."
She turned to face her new table companion as the final round began. He was pleasantly symmetrical, thick curly hair on the top of his head as well, but she had to question his fashion choices in the dead of winter. He was wearing a grey t-shirt. It was long sleeved, to be sure, but how on earth could he stand it when it had been piercingly cold for weeks now? She opened her mouth to ask him just that, but he beat her to the punch.
"Ye don' seem like tha speed datin' type?"
"What gave me away?" She deadpanned.
"Don' think anyone else is drinkin' ta get through it." He raised his own beer bottle in a mock salute.
Jemma sighed, but then smiled at him. "I'm not. My friend works for the company in charge."
"Ah. Tha' explains all yer haverin' with tha bartender."
Jemma played with the straw in her glass again as he took another drink. She narrowed her eyes at him in mock suspicion. "Have you been watching me?" She teased.
A faint pink crossed his cheeks. "Wha'? No. 'Course not!"
She laughed and a grin started to make its way across his face.
He had quite a nice smile too.
"Have you been enjoying the speed dating, then?" She asked him. There was something about him that made this seem more like a joke and less like a chore.
He smirked and answered diplomatically, "It's been an interestin' evenin'." He shook his head and said, "tha' one in tha flowers - she's kind o' scary though."
"Yes! I saw one man leap up and run from her table when the timer went off!" Jemma giggled. "I don't know if I've ever seen someone move so fast!"
He nodded and gestured with his bottle. "She seems ta be doin' okay now."
The man at the other table, sunglasses on despite the evening hour, had his hands folded in front of him as he talked, a soft smile on his face. The woman was watching him, utterly transfixed as he spoke.
"Maybe she was scaring them off on purpose?" Jemma mused. "Waiting for the right one. Everyone lies at these things anyway."
"Yeah… maybe not everyone. You don' seem ta be lyin' ta me."
"You haven't asked me anything that I need to lie about yet!"
Jemma let her eyes slip down, looking to catch the number on his sticker, just out of curiosity, of course. It wasn't like they had even talked about anything substantial. And it wasn't like she was actually going to put a number down on her card. And she absolutely wasn't basing the idea of writing down his number solely on the possibility that there was a warmth spreading through her every time he grinned at her that had nothing to do with the alcohol.
Maybe he had exceptional pheromones or something.
The number on his shirt, slapped haphazardly on his left sleeve as if he was trying to avoid people looking at it too closely, was a six.
"So…" Jemma hesitated, not wanting this to turn the route of every conversation she'd had so far tonight, "tell me something about yourself that no one else knows."
"No one?"
"No one."
"Hmm." He thought for a moment, and if he had been one of her earlier 'dates,' Jemma might have thought he was stalling for time, but his eyes sparkled in the yellow of the light above them, and she knew he was considering the question, trying to retrieve a suitable piece of information.
She leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms above her head as she waited.
"I hate haggis," He finally said, hiding his smile behind his beer bottle as he took another sip.
"Oh, please. That's not a real secret. No one in their right mind enjoys haggis." Her arms plopped back down, hands landing on the table with a loud slap, and she glanced around guiltily, but no one was paying them any attention.
"I think my countrymen would take offense a' tha'." They both chuckled, and Jemma, wanting something more substantial, readied herself to ask for another secret, but he said, "It's yer turn. Tell me somethin' no one knows."
Jemma bit down on her lip before she spoke, chewing thoughtfully and let her hair fall in front of her face. Realizing that they would be running out of time soon as she glanced at her phone, she blurted out, "When I was 13, I stole a tin of tea from the corner market." She had no idea what made her think of that, and her mouth clamped shut in a thin line. It wasn't something you would typically tell a complete stranger.
"Wha'?" The laugh that burst from him was something of a bark, and he leaned forward. "I think everyone's taken somethin' they weren't supposed ta a' least once."
She tried not to notice how dark his eyes were as she leaned forward as well, her voice pitching low. "No, you don't understand. I never break the rules. Ever. I love having rules."
"Ye love rules?"
"Yes. Structure is important."
"But ye stole a tin o' tea?" He laughed again, holding one hand up when she tried unsuccessfully to glare at him.
"I did!" She spread her hands out on the table, flexing her fingers. "It wasn't even about the tea, really. I liked the tin it was in. My mum said we didn't need any more tea, and even though I had been on my best behavior, and it was the only thing I asked her for on the trip to the market, she said no. So… I waited until she was busy arguing with the butcher about a roast, and… I slipped it into my bag."
"Ye still have tha tin, don' ye?" He was still leaning toward her, his face utterly delighted at this story.
"I might use it to keep spare change in."
"Did ye feel guilty?"
"Of course I did," she told him, exasperated. "I had never stolen anything before."
"An' since?"
She hesitated. "Does my roommate's jacket count?"
"Did ye give i' back?"
"Yes."
"No. Tha's called borrowin'." He chuckled.
"Hhmph." Jemma crossed her arms over her chest defensively and pushed herself back from the table again. "Well, I want to know something else about you. I told you my one and only secret. And all you told me was you don't like haggis." She wrinkled her nose up in distaste.
He drained the last of his beer. "Okay. Fair enough." Setting the bottle down with a thump, he squinted in thought again and ran a hand through his curls.
She swallowed dryly before picking up her sprite and sipping from it. She was not thinking about how the mess of curls on his head could be caused by her fingers instead or how soft they looked. They had been speaking for less than three minutes. Nearly three minutes, now. Time was almost up.
"I do murals. In tha city. On some abandoned buildin's."
"Is that legal?"
He shrugged. "Should've known tha' would be yer first question, yea tea thief."
"What do you paint in them?"
"All kinds o' things, really. Depends on where it is, my mood." He shrugged again. "A bit different from my day job, but i' helps get my head clear sometimes."
"And what-" she began, wanting to know what he did for a living, but the timer dinged, letting her know that the final round of the night was up. "Oh." Jemma turned her head, looking in Bobbi's direction as she clapped her hands and started speaking. "It was very nice to meet you," Jemma murmured, spinning back to face him, but he was gone.
-o-
I realize it's been a while since I've posted anything, but I have been writing a lot, and this story is mostly complete, so rest assured that updates will be coming to you pretty regularly. A huge amount of thanks are in in order for notapepper and StarryDreamer01 who have been giving me feedback for what seems like months on this one! They are both fantastic and you should be reading all of their stuff.