Ch2

"Lynne." I spit back at him. Though I can tell he means well, that Johnny character has me so worked up I'd punch John Stamos in the face if he was standing in front of me and I love John Stamos. "Now, if you'll excuse me--" I start to say as I push past William toward the bar but he catches my arm and I swear my temperature skyrockets and my face is beat red. I whip around to face him again. "What do you WANT?!" And I'm not yelling because of the music. He looks at me, his eyes wide with surprise as id that wasn't the reaction he expected and I watch his Adam's apple bob as he gulps nervously. He's talking to me, but I'm not listening, just watching his throat move in time with his jaw and it calms me down a little.

"--Can I at least buy you a drink to make up for it?" I catch the end of his apology. I eye him suspiciously, wondering if he's just trying to get me drunk so he can take advantage of me and then leave me first thing in the morning so I can wake up and find him gone without a trace.

Or maybe my jaded other half is overanalysing again and he's really trying to be nice.

"No strings attatched?" I say. A noticable wave of relief washes over his face and he smiles crookedly and it makes his eyes light up in the oddest way...

"No strings attatched. But might I ask you to sit with me?" Frigid, jaded Other Half is back in full force, but I shove her down. "You never risk anything--you always take the easy way out." I heard Cera invading my psyche again and I shake her off but she's most likely right so I say, "Sure."

William leads me to a less-crowded section of the club and sits me down at a small, graffitied table with a short, "Don't move." and runs off to the bar. While he's gone, I scan over the graffiti on the table, noting the masses of 'So-and-so was here's and crudely drawn penises. One catches my eye and it reads, 'Hailie and Joel 4ever' and I wonder if they got their forever. I imagine Hailie is a petite little blonde girl with big grey eyes and overdone make-up--a lot like the girl I ran into at the bar, but a much more tasteful dresser-- and Joel is this closet-gay-pretending-to-be-straight boy who broke her heart a day after he wrote this. My shoulders stoop a little.

"Back." William hands me my drink--some bright green liquid in a martini-glass. I stare it it. It has a cherry in it. I love cherries. I look up at him and wonder if I've ever met him before and I wonder how he knew I loved bright-colored drinks and cherries. I take it gingerly between my fingers and sip at it. It's rather bitter despite it's color, which leads me to believe that maybe everything isn't as good as it looks. Then I wonder how good I really am because I look like shit right now. I nervously attempt to shove my too-short pixie cut behind my ears without much luck, self-consciously turning my face away from his even though I'm secretly picturing him naked in the process.

The silence must be killing him because he says, "Do you come here often?" and I laugh and some of the artificial green liquid comes up my nose. It burns like hell, but it's so cheesy I forget how much it hurts and I say, "What the fuck?" And his face reddens up to his ears because he knows he just hit the low of the low in pick-up lines. I smile and take another sip of this horrible-green drink, casting my eyes down to avoid causing him further embarassment. After all, he did buy me a drink and at least he realized his mistake.

"It's okay," I say. My feet are fighting with themselves under the table--a nervous habit I developed while I was dating a guy in high school-- and I'm almost sure I'll have bruises tomorrow morning from the brutal beating they're giving themselves. "Do you wash your pants with Windex?" He seems relieved I've made a joke out of it and he smiles and toasts me.

"No, but did you get yours from space?" Now we're both laughing and he's put one of his own feet between mine to break up the fight they're having while I'm not looking. I take a second to admire the light that floods his face when he laughs. He looks happy. Like I should be. And he has a gorgeous smile. Like I would have if I wasn't scared to death of dentists. Come to think of it, though, I don't think I've ever been...

"I guess I should properly introduce myself," he tells me as he's tapping his fingers on the table. I've noticed he does that a lot. It's a methodical ba-da-bump-bump and it's driving me insane, so I take his hand in mine and smile. He smiles back. "My name is William H. Bereaves II." He adopts a British accent for the short statement. I grin at him and we both crack up laughing.

"My name is Lynne A. Daviess," If we weren't already holding hands, I would have shaken with him. His eyes match his leather jacket. "Why are you wearing a jacket, leather no less, in this hot ass building?" I ask suddenly. He's caught off guard.

"Because if I leave it somewhere, it'll get stolen. Duh." He replies shortly. "Why are you wearing what you wear?"

"I don't feel like running around naked right now." Stalemate. "But if you want me to..." He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. I realise how bad that must have sounded out loud and I assume the alcohol must be making my subconscience leak into my common sense. All my thought are strung together.

"We'll have to see about that."