Bar Crawl (9 page)

S
hit. Fuck. Shit.

I flattened a good square of perfectly mowed grass in Frankie’s backyard before having enough sense to reach for my cell phone. I couldn’t turn and go back into the house after making such an ass out of myself. Not yet anyway. So, I dialed my emergency number.

“Hellooo,” an overly chipper voice sang into the phone.

“G,” I nearly shouted back.

“CJ,” Georgia greeted, “what’s up?”

It was clear she didn’t hear the panic in my voice. Why would she? I’d never shown an ounce of panic in her presence in the ten years we’d known each other. Evidently I was all about showing things about myself today.

“I’m…in trouble. With a girl.” I ran a hand through my hair and forced myself to sit in the still-warm grass. The sun had only begun to think about setting.

I heard what I figured was a stainless steel bowl crash into the matching stainless steel counter in her bakery’s kitchen. It was still early in California, and Georgia would be working at her bakery, getting ready for the Sunday “post-church sugar praise” as she liked to call it. “Christ, did you get someone pregnant?”

I laughed once, loud enough to scare a few birds out of a nearby bush, before growling. “No. Jesus. No.”

Georgia took an audible breath; I could nearly feel the relief extend the three thousand miles between us. “Care to catch me up?” she asked with a hint of her own anxiety.

“It’s Frankie. That girl I told you about.”

“The one you stalked?”

“What is it with women and that term? I just—”

“Stalked her at work. Continue,” Georgia chuckled, “did she call the cops on you?”

“No. I’m at her house. I came here this afternoon, and we had dinner, and I read her some of my book.” I said it all in one breath, and I still couldn’t believe I was stringing all of those words together.

Georgia was silent for a long few seconds. “You. I. Your. What?”

“See?” I nearly begged. I wished so badly that she was sitting with me on our old stools at Dunes, talking through this.

“I don’t… I don’t really know what to tell you. You told her about the book. That’s… Wow. It took you a year to even tell me that you liked writing, CJ.” She had a resigned and almost cautionary tone. One I wasn’t familiar with.

“What? What’s with that tone?” I pushed.

“Are you ready for this?”

“For what?”

Georgia sighed, and the waves crashing in the background on her end told me she’d stepped outside. I’d have bet anything she was sitting on the split-rail fence across the street from her bakery. She liked to think there. “For being an adult. A relationship.”

“Whoa,” I stood, “who said anything about a relationship?”

“You did.”

I looked around in confusion, knowing Georgia often spoke in riddles a la the Mad Hatter, but was still off-balance. I definitely never used the word relationship. It was taboo.

“Stop pacing,” she instructed as if she were right next to me. “You’ve spent more than a few hours with her, shared a meal with her
at her house
and have
read
her some of your book? Why is it that you call me to spell things out for you that you’re perfectly capable of reading yourself?”

“I don’t…ugh,” I grumbled. “I don’t know. I like her.”

“Yep. Hence all the date-like things you’ve done with her. Sigh,” she said. “My little CJ is growing right the fuck up.”

The tension broke in my chest as I chanced a glance back through the door and into Frankie’s living room. She was sitting on the couch, picking her nails as she seemed to make an effort to look anywhere but where I was standing.

“Wait,” Georgia interrupted. “Where is she now?”

“Inside. I’m outside in her backyard,” I admitted sheepishly.

“You know, Kane,” she huffed. “Why do y—no. It’s okay. You’re going to clean this up and apologize for however it was that you exited her house, because I know, knowing you, it was far from graceful, then you’re going to hang the
hell
onto her until Regan and I can get there to check her out, okay?”

Georgia was set to marry my cousin in two weeks in a wedding on the Cape Cod beach. Georgia didn’t have much family to speak of—besides her mom—and all of Regan’s family still lived on the peninsula. Being the best man was really the best of both worlds. I felt like I would be fully standing up there for the both of them.

“Well, I don’t think we need to turn your wedding weekend into anything but that.
Your
weekend.” I smiled broadly at the thought of seeing Georgia marry the only guy in the world good enough for her.

“Whatever,” she snipped. “Just go back in her house and
un-
make an ass out of yourself.”

I laughed again, not surprised that she vocalized the same thought about my behavior I’d assigned to myself. “I miss you.”

Her typically sharp voice softened. “I miss you, too, CJ. I’ll see you soon, k?”

“Yeah. Say hi to Regan for me.”

I walked up Frankie’s back steps and quietly reentered her house. She was still sitting on the couch, looking quietly patient.

“Hi,” she said, lifting her eyebrows. “Everything…okay?”

I took my seat next to her and clasped her hand. Her skin felt cold, which was impossible on this extra-warm day. I cringed internally at the thought of how sweaty my palms must be. Amazingly, a talk with my best friend was exactly what I needed to reassure me that my compass was, in fact, oriented correctly.

“I’m sorry,” I started. “I just had a little freak out there.”

“Who were you on the phone with?” she questioned innocently.

“Georgia.” I didn’t hesitate to say her name. I wasn’t hiding anything from Frankie. Especially about Georgia. I knew lots of girls found it weird—or threatening—that my best friend was female, but I’d already been honest with Frankie about G’s gender, and her importance to me.

Frankie nodded slowly. “Did she help? With…whatever was going on?” I could tell there were a million follow up questions brewing on her tongue by the way her eyes were lit up, but she was holding back.

“Don’t expect too much from me,” I blurted out, feeling sweat form between my shoulder blades. “I mean, I won’t sleep around, but—”

“‘Hey Jealousy,’” she interrupted.

“What? No, I’m not—”

“No.” She smiled and stood, walking to her iHome. “The things you just said are almost identical to the lyrics to ‘Hey Jealousy,’” by Gin Blossoms.” A few seconds later, the familiar tune was streaming through her house. “Did you do that on purpose?”

I chuckled. “No. I didn’t.”

“What?” she teased. “They’re
good.
”

I nodded. “You’re right. They are, but, what I’m trying—”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” She sighed and ran both hands through her hair. “You were trying to be serious and I got all…whatever the hell this is.” She dropped her hands into her lap and interlaced her fingers, taking a deep breath as she watched me.

I took a deep breath. “It’s clear we like each other, and it’s clear that we’re both nervous about it—for very different reasons. What I’m trying to do is plead my case a little. I know how it looks, but I wouldn’t sleep around on you. Anytime I’ve ever had an actual
girlfriend
, I haven’t slept around on them.”

Frankie put up her hands, looking defensive with wide eyes. “I’m not asking to be your girlfriend.”

I sighed. “I know. Ugh. I’m just saying that any time I
have
had girlfriends—”

“So that’s more of an in-between activity? The sleeping around?” Frankie’s sarcasm was thick and caused me to grin and feel regret at the same time.

“I guess.”

“Sorry,” she cut in. “I know you’re just out there having fun. I need to get off my judgy-wudgy soapbox.”

Judgy-wudgy?
Even her made-up words were insanely cute.

“You’re right, though.” I reached out and touched her knee. “I’m ready for more. But that’s why I said that you shouldn’t expect too much from me…right away, at least. I’ll screw up. A lot. I don’t know how or when or why, but, it’s not in my nature to be anything but selfish. I…” I trailed off, wondering when this leaky valve of honesty would stop. It
did
feel good, though, so I kind of hoped it wouldn’t.

Frankie placed her hand on mine, moving her thumb down the length of one of my fingers. “I believe you. And I know that sounds absurd, given all the shit I give you, but…”

“But what?”

“A man doesn’t simply
write a book
in order to get in someone’s pants. Well, they
might
—I do know lots of Lit majors—but you? No. That’s not your style. And I’ve found that, in general, artists are either in touch with their emotions or running away from them.”

“Isn’t running a bad thing?” I huffed.

She shook her head, moving her hand to let her fingertips graze my jaw. “You’d think, but in reality it still shows you’re aware that you
have
emotions. Big ones. And you’re
acting
on them. Most people let the heavy swallow them. Or they ignore it. I figured you’d be in the latter, but I saw so much of you in that book, CJ, in different guys you wrote about, and even the girls. It’s like you not only watched them carefully, you fully put yourself in their shoes and created different realities for yourself.”

My chest pounded as Frankie dissected my brain. “I want to run from this conversation,” I admitted.

“Why do I scare you?” she asked, tilting her head to the side and scrunching her eyebrows as if it were absurd.

“Why do
I
scare
you
?” I retorted, though I assumed I knew where her fear came from.

Frankie sat back with a sardonic smile. “Well, even you had to open your speech a few minutes ago with the words, ‘I won’t sleep around.’ I’ve never seen you with the same girl twice, so when you started looking at me, I did all I could to look away. I didn’t want to be just another fun night for you. I didn’t even
want
a fun night with you
because
of all the other women I’d seen you with.”

“Just to clarify,” I cut in. “I don’t have sex with every girl I leave the bar with.”

She snorted. “Give me a percentage.”

I rolled my eyes and growled. “Maybe seventy-five? Stop judging me,” I sort of snapped.

“Oh, get over yourself. People judge each other. Period. That’s how we decide who we want to talk to, be friends with, have relationships with. We judge what we see and hear and piece it together.” She crossed her arms in front of her almost defiantly.

“But you called me a pig.” At this point I was spinning. I wanted to have more with Frankie, but seemed to keep bringing up all the shit she hated about me. I was fully Bar CJ and fully Writer CJ at the same time, and it was a mess. “You called me a pig without knowing how I treat those women who I leave the bar with. I respect women, Frankie. I respect the
hell
out of them. I’ve always been honest about my desire to remain single, and no one leaves my place wondering how I’m feeling.”

Frankie’s shoulders fell as she sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m the asshole. Frankly, if today was the only time I’d spent with you, I’d be the one pursuing you.”

“So why do I scare you, then?”

Frankie chewed on her lip for a moment before looking up at me through her eyelashes. “Because old habits die hard. I’m afraid you’ll end up hurting me. Sure, I believe it when you say you won’t go home with anyone else, but that’s not all that can hurt, you know. If I’m in a relationship with someone, I want their undivided attention. That’s different than constant attention—I’m not high maintenance.” Her cheeks took on a warm-looking flush and she looked back down.

“I know what undivided means, Frankie.”

“You’re also a flirt. Flirting itself, alone in a vacuum, isn’t harmful. But we don’t live in a vacuum. And, it’s a slippery-ass slope from flirting to
innocent
touches to not-so-innocent touches. Wait,” she looked up, seeming confused again, “why are you scared of me?”

Shit.

“W
hy are you scared…of me?” I asked again. “Enough to flee my house, even.” I chuckled softly, but it wasn’t funny.

“The
fleeing
,” he teased, “was more about me than you. We talked about that.”

“Okay, what’s the rest, then?”

“I’m scared of your judgment. And I’m afraid I’m not good enough for you. Fuck that, I
know
I’m not good enough for you.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

I mimicked his position, nudging my shoulder into his upper arm. “That’s an intense judgment to make, don’t you think? Either you think really shitty of yourself, or far too highly of me. Shouldn’t I be able to decide who is or isn’t
good enough
for me?”

“You’re brilliant,” he said as he stared at the floor. “You’re kind and smart and focused and, to boot, I’ve never once seen you flinging yourself around the bar like you’re for sale. You have excellent self-esteem…” he trailed off as I started laughing. “What?”

“My self-esteem is rather in question,” I admitted.

CJ tilted his head, a movement that cause me to look him in the eye. “Trust me,” he asserted. “You have amazing self-esteem. I’m a bar person expert, remember?” He laughed a little before continuing. “I’ve seen how women with low self-esteem behave at a bar. It’s not always promiscuity. But of all the ways I know them to behave, you’ve never done any of those things. You’re always engaged in conversation, smiling, and you genuinely seem to have a good time.”

“So, your fear, then…” I prompted, not sure he’d really said much on the topic.

“Is that I won’t measure up. That, at the end of the day, I’ll still be the meathead sex freak who bangs the drums.” He lowered his head again and took a deep breath.

Instinctively, I wrapped my arm around his back and rested my chin on his shoulder. “Sounds like that’s more you being scared of
you
rather than you being scared of me.” My chin bobbed against the slight shrug of his shoulders. “Hey,” I whispered, leaning back so he could lift his head.

“Yeah?” When he looked up, I was shocked by the striking vulnerability in his eyes.

I knew it had to be quiet in my house, since I owned no pets and we were the only two people there—and we weren’t talking—but the whooshing sound in my ears from my increased heart rate made it incredibly difficult to focus. “I’m not scared anymore.” My voice quivered slightly as I spoke.

CJ leaned forward until our foreheads were touching. His was warm, threatening sweat but not quite there yet. His voice was rough like gravel again, but soft in a whisper. “I’m still terrified.”

My hands rested flat against the tops of his thighs as I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened my eyes, CJ was still starting at me, perhaps even more intensely than before. I moved my hands up his sides and brushed my fingertips along his neck before resting them against the sides of his face. “Kiss me,” I said inside of my heavy exhale.

Action was his only response, and he pressed his lips into mine. It was softer than our previous kisses. Testing. Tentative. We kissed in these soft, pillowy pecks for several seconds before I brought my hand to the back of his neck and made him stay on my lips a few moments longer. I wanted more and, for some reason, I was no longer afraid to ask for it.

“Come upstairs with me,” I said between thick kisses.

CJ pulled back, his breathing still heavy as he studied my face. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want you to think that you’re the same. Because you’re not. You’re important to me, even if I don’t fully understand all that means yet.”

“But I
want
to, CJ. Don’t you want to?” I leaned forward and kissed his neck.

“So, so, so badly. So badly.” He took a forced breath and gripped my shoulders. “I don’t want to make a mistake with you. Even without my knowing, I’ve made several. I’ve spent the last two years watching people at bars and writing their stories, and there you were over the past few months, writing mine.” There was a muted panic overtaking his voice.

I shrugged. “Maybe we can write the next scene together.” I internally winced at how corny it sounded, even though I’d meant every word.

“Damn, you’re making it hard to say no.” His thumb ran over my cheekbone excruciatingly slowly.

I turned my head into his touch and kissed the palm of his hand. “So don’t say no, then.”

I stood, grasping his hand and tugging him to standing. CJ and I had been unintentionally courting each other for months. I could no longer deny my role. Each time I’d seen him at one of the bars, I made longer eye contact with him than the time before. It’s as if I were begging him to be ready for what I wanted. I had no idea if he was fully there as we walked silently up my stairs, but we
were
ready for this.

“Beautiful room,” he managed when I opened my door.

I walked us over to my bed and stood with the backs of my legs against the mattress. Lifting his shirt up his body, I gasped at the sight. I externally, out loud, gasped. His skin looked as hard as it felt, and his chest was covered with a few large and ornate tattoos. I didn’t take much time to examine the tattoos that resided on his arms; it was his chest I chose to study.

Running my fingers across a large and ornately illustrated drum set on his left pec, I grinned.

“I know,” he said in a soft, mocking tone. “Obvious, right?”

I shrugged. “Who cares? It’s awesome.” It calmed my nerves to see that CJ was clearly struggling with nerves and insecurities himself. “What’s this?” I asked, moving my fingers to script on the right side of his chest. It read, “And he finally loved her back.”

CJ seemed to hesitate, chewing his words as he softly gripped my wrist. “I usually tell people they’re song lyrics from a song I wrote in high school.”

“What is it, really?” I lifted his shirt up, and he pulled it over his head, casting it to the floor.

“From a story I wrote in high school. A book, really. It was the longest thing I’d written at that point in my life. That was the last line of the story.” CJ slipped his hands up my shirt, taking his time to move over the indent of my waist and the curve of my breasts.

Once my shirt was on the floor, I eyed him intensely. “You really haven’t told anyone about your writing, have you?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Why the fuck not? It’s
so
hot.
”
I kissed his chest and brought my hands to the waistband of his pants.

He shrugged, seeming to grow impatient as we pawed at each other’s clothes. “I’ve always been CJ, the drummer, the big dude everyone wanted to play football.”

“Did you? Play football?”

“Fuck no.” Slowly glided his hands up my sides. After a few more wordless kisses and touches, we were both left in our underwear, and I still had my bra on. Lace. Because even though I hadn’t intended on this day ending like this, it’s never a bad idea to wear kickass lingerie. “Haven’t you ever just…taken on your role? Not asked any questions?”

CJ’s direct and astute question stopped me in my tracks. I sat on the edge of the bed, still tracing the ridges in his shoulders and back with the tips of my fingers.