Beta’d by the Lovely and Talented Esquirella

--------------------------------------------

W/M/Smoker seeks Seclusion

Chapter Seven: How to Embarrass Yourself 2

-------------------------------------------

As it turns out, Quiet Girl isn’t that quiet when she’s had a few drinks. She keeps leaning into me, grabbing my arm and telling me that she has always liked me. If I was straight and an utter bastard I’d probably flirt right back, but I’m gay and an utter bastard so I shove her away a little and reach out for the waitress.

“I’m going to need a gigantic beer over here.”

The waitress nods absently and walks away. “Sure.”

There are four of us shoved in this tacky red plastic rounded booth. Andrea didn’t tell me that her friends were complete idiots, but I had assumed. I check my watch. It’s been twenty minutes. Quiet Girl leans into Rob, some guy that I just met, and proceeds to tell him that she’s already pretty tipsy. As if we all can’t tell by the way she tosses her copper hair over her shoulder, nearly getting it in my lit cigarette. Andrea notices me checking my watch and clears her throat.

“What?” I shrug and give her a tight smile that widens when the waitress places my gigantic beer down in front of me. I can sneak this in and then leave before I hate myself for allowing this nonsense.

“Come on, Clyde. It’s not that bad…” She trails off and looks behind me, “Sam! Glad you could make it.”

That does it. I should leave right now. She did this on purpose. Her eyes have that knowing mischievous glint in them and I take a large gulp of my beer to keep from telling her off. I don’t even look up when I feel his presence beside me. It’s like a strange, burning sensation along the length of my side, somehow pleasant and infuriating at the same time. Even stranger, he’s not even touching me. He’s just standing next to me. I stare into my drink as I feel his hand directly behind me on the back of the booth.

“Hey! I had a tough day. Of course I need a drink…” he looks down at me when I dare to shoot him a brief terrified glance. “Clyde?”

He seems genuinely surprised but more than that, extremely amused. I stare and will daggers at Andrea as she scoots over, giving Third Floor Office Guy a place to sit. Shit, now he’s right across from me. She did do this on purpose, although he seems to have no idea about her evil plan. But I will not excuse him completely. I’m sure he’s partially to blame. I know I’m going to need another beer soon.

Rob, bless him, distracts me from my thoughts. I think I actually like the guy. He’s quiet, doesn’t grate my nerves like the others, and I’m quite sure he’s willing to take Quiet Girl off my hands.

“Hey, Clyde?” He leans in from his spot at the center of the booth, his eyes on my lit cigarette.

“That’s my name.”

I never give it to anyone. How is it that everyone knows it?! I’d rather people just refer to me like I do to them, as if they don’t care what I’m called. I begin to wonder about my revelation on the porch of my mom’s house. Am I really desperately lonely? Because I don’t think I can handle another ten minutes of this.

“Can I have one of those?” He gives the cigarette a longing look and smiles when I comply. “Thanks. I need this.”

I smirk to myself, I know what you mean and take another gulp from the terribly cold beer in front of me. I avoid staring at Third Floor Office Guy for the time being, finding the ticking hands on my watch much more interesting.

“Do you have somewhere else to be?”

I lift my head a little, shielding my view of him partially with my eyelashes. Yes, I do have somewhere else I could be. Anywhere but here. That dark eyebrow of his, sardonic bastard (that’s my job!), raises and his lips part slightly. He has this sort of “Well?!” look on his face as if he’s daring me to name anywhere better than sitting right here in this stupid place … sitting here right across from him. I sit back, tilting my head to the side, trying to come up with anything that will wipe that sexy smile off his face.

“Not really,” I say and immediately I’m surprised by my words.

I wince and try to come up with something else as he just sits there, smiling at me, making me incredibly uncomfortable. Why is it that he’s the only one that does this to me?! I hate him! He’s so distracting. He has somehow lost the suit jacket and his shirt has three buttons undone for no reason other than to annoy me, I’m sure. Maybe I’m the one who’s so easily distracted. I decide to ignore my blunder as if it never happened and take a desperate drag of my cigarette.

“So, what’s new in the advertising world?” Andrea cuts in, obviously noticing my distress.

Maybe she’s not so bad. I attempt to lower my eyes from his, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him win the staring contest. She tugs on his arm and he reluctantly shifts his gaze to her. Victory! I snort and down the rest of my beer. The waitress, I think I love her, promptly sets down another as I snuff out my cigarette in a conveniently placed ashtray. She is getting a big tip for her prompt service. I’m going to need something to get me through this.

“Nothing incredibly new, Andy. Just as exciting as it was the week before.” He smiles at her and pauses to order a drink from the waitress. Whiskey? Is he serious with that? He must have really had a ‘tough day’ if he’s hitting the hard stuff before six.

Quiet Girl leans on my shoulder and laughs, “I need out.”

I look down into her glazed eyes and bite my lip to keep from laughing. This is what I was trying to avoid. Drunk people … hanging all over me. Nevertheless, I get up and help her to her feet. She wobbles a little, threatening to lean against me, her face on fire with alcohol. She must not drink very often. She’s only had two! She gives me a lazy grin and walks to the ladies’ room.

“Is she always like that?” I ask no one in particular as I stare after her, watching her stumble her way through the myriad of tables and patrons.

“I think she likes you,” Andrea says in a singsong voice and laughs a little too loudly at this obvious revelation. I sigh and drop back down into my seat, somehow resisting the urge to look at my watch for the fiftieth time.

“She has a habit of crushing on gay men.”

Rob chokes on his cigarette, coughing and laughing at the same time. Soon everyone is laughing and I can’t possibly be more embarrassed. I don’t know if I’m embarrassed for Quiet Girl or myself for having to endure it. I narrow my eyes at Rob as he wipes tears of pure mirth from his eyes.

“We always had you pegged as asexual around the office,” he chokes out between coughs, sending Andrea and Third Floor Office Guy into violent hysterics.

My jaw tightens painfully and I grind my teeth to keep from lashing out at him. Asexual?! Now I remember Rob. He’s the jerk who always leans against my desk, saying things like, “Mondays, right?” Utterly amazing that I didn’t recognize him before. Yet, I never make a habit of really looking at people around the office … or anyone at all for that matter. It seems like he’s having a good time at my expense. I plan my revenge as I take another long drink from my beer. I’m sure I’ll find just the opportune moment.

“Asexual?” He says across from me and mocks a frown. “That’s too bad.”

“I’m not asexual!” Dammit! Just drop it. He laughs at my scowl.

“Good to know.”

The waitress sets his drink in front of him and Andrea rambles her drink order before asking Sam to move.

“She’s been in there a long time. I better check on her.”

An awkward silence follows. Rob clears his throat uncomfortably and shifts in his seat. Sam and I resume our staring contest. He’s smiling but I am far from it. I can only imagine what quizzical expression my subconscious has come up with. Is he flirting with me? Out of the corner of my eye I see Rob shift again, causing the plastic material under him to squeak and break the silence. It’s amazing that we can hear it over the roar of laughter and loud voices around us.

“Hey, man. Relax. I was just fucking with you.” Rob says and punches me in the arm.

My arm jerks at the contact and the beer in my hand sloshes onto my clothes. I sigh mournfully and narrow my eyes at him. “Thanks.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.”

Setting my beer on the table, I get up and walk to the bar to get some napkins. My shirt is wet and sticking to me in the most uncomfortable way. As if I wasn’t uncomfortable before, Rob had to amplify matters.

“Not planning on leaving are you?” Sam asks beside me.

The bartender takes one look at my doused shirt and passes me over. He focuses his attention on Sam. “What’ll you have?”

“Six shots of Patrón,” Sam says to the bartender and gives me a wink.

“Hello?!” Dammit! I just need a napkin or something.

“You know. This doesn’t seem like the kind of thing someone like you would do for fun.”

“Oh?” Suddenly I’m very interested in where this most obvious conclusion came from. “What would ‘someone like me’ be interested in?”

He doesn’t deny the implication of his words and doesn’t apologize for them either. He just laughs, an oddly beautiful glint sparkling in his eyes. Since when is ‘beautiful’ part of my vocabulary?!

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Hmmph. Is he seriously interested? Because it’s not interesting.

“Not much really.” I admit after thinking it over.

“How surprising.”

“Well…” I really don’t know where the grin on my face is coming from, but it bothers me a little (ok, a lot) that I can’t help but smile around him. “I like to annoy the shit out of people.”

“Ok,” he says, nodding with a wide smile on his face. “That’s one.”

“I like to hate people. Can’t forget about that.” I’m going for utter bastard but somehow it comes out playfully sarcastic. Gawd, I’m hopeless. Am I seriously crushing on this guy? Wait a second, crushing? Where did that come from? Oh yeah. Andrea said it earlier. Thanks, Andrea.

That’s where he stops me. He puts a hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eyes.

“Now this time I’m serious.”

Good, because now I’m confused. I guess he can see that so he begins again. He points to himself. “I’m a graphic artist. I like to draw and I get paid to make cool and interesting shit. I like movies, music and dancing.”

“And dancing?” I ask with a smirk.

“Yes. And dancing.” He pushes my shoulder a little before releasing it completely and leans against the bar, bracing himself on his elbows. “Do you dance?”

I tilt my head to the side and study him carefully before I answer. “Are you asking me out?”

“Maybe. Answer the question.” He grins and nudges me with an elbow.

“I dance,” I pause as the bartender hands me a stack of napkins. “Just not in public.”

“Alone?”

“Sure,” I stammer defensively, “I mean, yes. Why not?”

Why am I so embarrassed about this?! I do it all the time I just … well, I’ve never admitted it to anyone before now. I busy myself with cleaning my shirt to avoid looking at him.

The bartender sets six shots of tequila in front of him and my eyes open in surprise.

“What are you doing?” I take a look at my watch, opening my mouth to mention the time, but the words die in my throat. It’s almost eight o’clock! What the hell happened to leaving after thirty minutes?

“I’m getting some shots for us. What does it look like?”

“Us?” I don’t know if he realizes this, but today is Monday. We all have to work tomorrow. Plus, I’m twenty-eight. The last time I was drunk was… Well that time doesn’t count because everyone gets drunk to endure family at Christmas, right? So if you exclude Christmas and every other holiday they insist I visit on, then the last time I was wasted was… six years ago. I don’t know how old Sam is (mostly because I haven’t asked) but he could be anywhere between perhaps twenty-two to even my age. Is he that resilient that he can get drunk tonight and be fine tomorrow? I’m not. Sorry.

“Yeah, us. Did you forget about Rob?”

We both shoot a glance back at him and he waves nervously at me from the booth, a wary smile on his face.

“Oh no. I haven’t forgotten about him.” I narrow my eyes at the damage Rob has done to my shirt and sigh dejectedly.

“Are you game?” Sam asks with a playful wink, three shots in each hand and walks to the booth.

I follow him a little closer than I mean to and stand by the table. “I was planning on leaving, actually.”

I give him a tight smile and glance at my watch again. Max must be dying to get out by now. I can see him dancing by the door in my mind, eyes afloat … or perhaps breaking the promise he made to me and pissing in the hallway. Either way, it will be my fault.

“You’re leaving?!” Rob suddenly screams with his hands over his ears. Yeah, this place is a little loud but he doesn’t have to yell.

Sam frowns a little at Rob as he sets the shot glasses on the table. He gives me a half-hearted smile and taunts me. “What? Is it your bedtime?”

Does he seriously think calling me chicken is going to work? Just as I’m about to open my mouth and give him a piece of my mind, Andrea walks up with Quiet Girl clinging to her arm. Sam takes a seat and Rob nearly jumps out of his. “Where have you been?”

The three of us are trying not to laugh but Quiet Girl is just priceless. Her reddish hair is quite obviously disheveled, her makeup completely gone aside from traces of eyeliner and her purse strap is around her neck.

“I need to take her home.” Andrea begins but stops when she sees I’ve got my jacket on already. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve been here for over two hours, Andrea. I have a dog and he has been alone all day in my apartment.”

“That’s easily solved.” She smiles and holds out her free hand. “Give me your keys. I’ll walk him.”

Quiet Girl shifts awkwardly, groaning and leaning her entire weight on Andrea. I look from Rob, who just stares at us, to Sam, who is … well he’s smirking at me as if he finds my loss of words amusing. I turn back to Andrea.

“Um… what?!”

“Seriously. Give me your keys.” But she doesn’t wait for me to give them to her. She grabs them out of my hand. Then she rambles off the name of my building and my apartment number as if she’s been there countless times. I just stare at her. What is this?!

“Relax. I’m not a stalker or anything. I know from handing you your paycheck for over a year.” She rolls her eyes and tightens her grip on the slumping figure at her side.

I’m still in shock. I can’t say a damn thing no matter how hard I try. My mouth is frozen in an open position and just won’t function.

“What’s his name?” she asks as she guides Quiet Girl to the door. I quickly walk after them, not really sure what to do.

“His name is Max, but you…”

“Bye, guys! Have fun!” And just like that she’s gone.

“Have a seat, Clyde,” Rob says from behind me and Sam just cackles evilly.

Ugh, Goddammit!

---------------------------------------

A couple of hours later, I decide it’s not so bad. Although that’s mostly because I feel myself getting closer and closer to drunk, to a hangover, and to eventually calling in sick tomorrow. Why did I let her talk me into this? I was almost free! I had my keys in my hand and she ripped them away from me. But now, for some strange reason (sweet, sweet alcohol), it doesn’t seem to matter.

Rob is drunk and laughing his ass off every time his quarter bounces of the glass and he is forced to take another shot. Sam, I can tell, is at the point where you’re drunk but you’re not. Confused? Let me clarify: In this state, you can stand up without falling over or swaying in place, talk without slurring your words and act completely sober. How do you know the difference? Because no matter how sober you try to act, the most ignorant bullshit will come out of your mouth.

But what do I know? I’m drunk.

I know this because I spilled the last three shots before I could get them to my mouth.

“You do that on purpose, I think,” Sam accuses, pointing his finger at my tequila-covered hand.

Every single thing Sam says sends Rob into hysterics. I’d have to agree with him on the degree of hilarity concerning Sam’s previous idiotic statements, but the last one wasn’t funny at all.

Sam gives me a questioning look.

“You’re not funny,” I say matter-of-factly and they both look at me strangely. Wow, I am drunk. I wasn’t joking before when I said I was drunk because NOW ... I am drunk and before I was drunk but NOW I’m rambling nonsensically inside my head.

Then I start laughing for no reason.

“I’ve got to piss,” Rob announces randomly and shoves at me, nearly pushing me to the floor.

-------------------------

Sam, surprisingly, is the most sober of our group. Rob calls a friend to come pick him up and I have no friends. Also, I just now remember that I don’t have my keys. Of course when I realize this, my hands are deep in my pockets and Sam is laughing at me.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

I’m fine walking out to his car but on the ride there I kind of space out and fall asleep … just a little. Tomorrow I’m probably going to kick myself in the face for this night, but right now I don’t really care.

We get to my place quickly enough (or was it quick because I was asleep?) and I fumble with the door handle for a minute before I finally succeed in opening the door. I get out of the car on shaky legs and just sort of sway in place.

Remember what we talked about earlier? About being drunk but not? Well, I’m not sure if I told you or not, but I am drunk. Yep, going to hate myself tomorrow.

“Can you make it or do you need help?”

“Did you say words just now?” I give him a lazy smile when he just nods and throws an arm around my waist to support me.

I lean into him as much as I can, hoping that I won’t be able to remember most of this tomorrow. Yet, some sick and twisted part of me does want to remember.

When we get to my door I ‘accidentally’ shove him against it, knocking the breath out of him. He looks surprised but when I just smirk and move closer he grins, muttering happily under his breath, “I knew that elevator thing wasn’t an accident.”

It was too! But I ignore his comment for now because he throws his arms around my neck and pulls me down just enough so I can push my lips against his.

The door opens, causing us to fall on the floor of my front hallway. Our legs tangle and I am vaguely aware of the pain in my forehead where it collided with his. He groans painfully as his back hits the hardwood floor hard, “Oh… ouch.”

I wince and push myself partially off him, blushing and laughing nervously at Andrea’s amused expression.

“I forgot about you.”

“I noticed,” she says with a raised eyebrow.

I look down at Sam and he’s clearly mortified. His face is the deepest shade of red I’ve ever seen on human flesh.

“Um… I guess I should go?”

I reluctantly let him up and watch as he stumbles for words.

“We … I?” He scratches the back of his head with one hand, his eyebrows furrowing as his struggle continues. “Oh, fuck it. See you tomorrow,” he babbles almost incoherently and winks at me, walking quickly out of sight.

Andrea explodes into fits of girlish laughter and I can’t help but wonder if this was all a part of her ill-conceived and terribly evil plan.

ToBeContinued