carefree. The combined smells of beer and peanuts from our table and deep-fried food coming from inside the old-warehouse-turned-bar filled my nose, reminding me of a county fair. For the first time in a long time, I felt youthful… hopeful.
Sitting around a wrought-iron patio table with Lindsey, Michael, and nearly a dozen of their friends, drinking pitchers of beer and listening to the live music, the guys all talked shit to each other about some fantasy football league they were in together. The wives ignored them for the most part, engaging in small talk about their kids or their jobs, and though they were all extremely nice and tried to include me in the conversation, it was hard not to feel a little bit like an outsider. I didn’t have children or a husband, and I sure as hell didn’t want to talk about the only serious relationship I’d been in. Without knowing much about what to expect at my upcoming job either, I didn’t have much to add to their discussions, so I nodded and laughed when I was supposed to, simply enjoying the laidback, cozy atmosphere. It felt as natural as hanging out in a friend’s backyard.
A handful of different bands took the stage throughout the evening, changing out every half hour or so, each one offering a distinct sound, but all of them incredibly talented. I loved the mix of popular covers and songs I’d never heard before. Not knowing what to expect next, I kept my ears open and alert, drinking in the lyrics and melodies. Though studying art was my first passion, music was a close second. If art was what emotions looked like, then music was what they sounded like. The perfect complement to each other, music and art allowed people to express themselves in ways where the spoken or written word was simply not enough. They both fascinated me.
“So what do you think of Adrian? He’s pretty cute, right?” Lindsey leaned over and whispered in my ear during one of the music breaks. Michael and a couple of his friends — including Adrian, the only single guy with our group who’d coincidentally sat down next to me when we’d gotten there — had gotten up on a beer run a few minutes prior, leaving the two of us somewhat out of earshot of the others.
Scoffing, I shook my head at her. “You had this whole thing set up, didn’t you? An attempt to get me laid or something?”
“Of course I did, and of course it is,” she hissed, fighting a losing battle to the wicked grin bending up the corners of her mouth. “He thinks you’re hot. I can tell he totally wants to fuck you. And don’t worry, we know him. It’s cool. He’s not like a weirdo or anything. Single. No kids with crazy baby-mama-drama. Makes a good paycheck. STD free.”
My eyebrows rose, not sure whether or not to believe her. “And you know this how?”
“He’s one of Michael’s coaches,” she laughed. “They have to take physicals before each semester. Michael would’ve told me if he’d failed.”
Chuckling, I shook my head. “Oh, good Lord, next you’re gonna give me his IQ and credit score.”
I should’ve known Lindsey would think the best way for me to move on from my life with Jonah would be to screw him out of my system. Unfortunately, I knew firsthand that approach didn’t work so well; I just hadn’t divulged that information to her quite yet. The months following the breakup were not a time I was particularly proud of. A lot of soul-searching in clubs and frat houses left me even more lost than I was to begin with. Thankfully, it didn’t take me (too) long to figure out that bent over a sofa or flat on my back with my legs in the air wasn’t where I’d find any answers.
“I don’t have either of those,” she dead-panned, pausing to take a drink from her frosty mug, “but I saw his dick once when we all went skinny-dipping, and I promise you won’t be disappointed. Boy is packing some heat in those jeans. At least six or seven inches soft.”
A bubble of laughter hiccupped out of
Sitting around a wrought-iron patio table with Lindsey, Michael, and nearly a dozen of their friends, drinking pitchers of beer and listening to the live music, the guys all talked shit to each other about some fantasy football league they were in together. The wives ignored them for the most part, engaging in small talk about their kids or their jobs, and though they were all extremely nice and tried to include me in the conversation, it was hard not to feel a little bit like an outsider. I didn’t have children or a husband, and I sure as hell didn’t want to talk about the only serious relationship I’d been in. Without knowing much about what to expect at my upcoming job either, I didn’t have much to add to their discussions, so I nodded and laughed when I was supposed to, simply enjoying the laidback, cozy atmosphere. It felt as natural as hanging out in a friend’s backyard.
A handful of different bands took the stage throughout the evening, changing out every half hour or so, each one offering a distinct sound, but all of them incredibly talented. I loved the mix of popular covers and songs I’d never heard before. Not knowing what to expect next, I kept my ears open and alert, drinking in the lyrics and melodies. Though studying art was my first passion, music was a close second. If art was what emotions looked like, then music was what they sounded like. The perfect complement to each other, music and art allowed people to express themselves in ways where the spoken or written word was simply not enough. They both fascinated me.
“So what do you think of Adrian? He’s pretty cute, right?” Lindsey leaned over and whispered in my ear during one of the music breaks. Michael and a couple of his friends — including Adrian, the only single guy with our group who’d coincidentally sat down next to me when we’d gotten there — had gotten up on a beer run a few minutes prior, leaving the two of us somewhat out of earshot of the others.
Scoffing, I shook my head at her. “You had this whole thing set up, didn’t you? An attempt to get me laid or something?”
“Of course I did, and of course it is,” she hissed, fighting a losing battle to the wicked grin bending up the corners of her mouth. “He thinks you’re hot. I can tell he totally wants to fuck you. And don’t worry, we know him. It’s cool. He’s not like a weirdo or anything. Single. No kids with crazy baby-mama-drama. Makes a good paycheck. STD free.”
My eyebrows rose, not sure whether or not to believe her. “And you know this how?”
“He’s one of Michael’s coaches,” she laughed. “They have to take physicals before each semester. Michael would’ve told me if he’d failed.”
Chuckling, I shook my head. “Oh, good Lord, next you’re gonna give me his IQ and credit score.”
I should’ve known Lindsey would think the best way for me to move on from my life with Jonah would be to screw him out of my system. Unfortunately, I knew firsthand that approach didn’t work so well; I just hadn’t divulged that information to her quite yet. The months following the breakup were not a time I was particularly proud of. A lot of soul-searching in clubs and frat houses left me even more lost than I was to begin with. Thankfully, it didn’t take me (too) long to figure out that bent over a sofa or flat on my back with my legs in the air wasn’t where I’d find any answers.
“I don’t have either of those,” she dead-panned, pausing to take a drink from her frosty mug, “but I saw his dick once when we all went skinny-dipping, and I promise you won’t be disappointed. Boy is packing some heat in those jeans. At least six or seven inches soft.”
A bubble of laughter hiccupped out of
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