Last Call (6 page)

"So tell me about yourself," Mark asked as he glanced around the bar, a bit preoccupied.

Really? Tell me about yourself? How original
, I thought, swallowing another sip of my sour Tom Collins. I’d just started to dig into my story when Mark waved his hand up to get the bartender’s attention.

"Well, I'm in my senior year, majoring in Art History…"

"Hold on," he interrupted when the bartender walked over to take his drink order. "What do you have on tap?" he asked. Swallowing back the rest of my life story, I listened patiently as the bartender rattled off their beer choices. While they chatted about the "latest" brew the restaurant was serving for the season, I took the opportunity to study my surroundings again. The bar had quieted down some, and I noted that the cougars were no longer there. They must have headed to dinner upstairs. My eyes flicked over to the other bartender, who was finally free of his harem, and caught him checking me out.

He was wiping up the bar in front of him but his eyes were fixed on me, and I quickly pulled my gaze away; feeling a blush creeping up my face.

Holy wow.
The thought raced through my head at the stolen glimpse I’d gotten of Mr. Sexy. Obviously this was the new hot bartender the girls were talking about the other night.

"So, you were saying?" Mark asked, after finally making a beer decision.

Feeling bad about my wandering eye, I focused back on my blind date and began to tell him about myself again.

"So are you an artist yourself, or do you just study it?"

I thought for a moment before I answered diplomatically, "I like to sketch, but no, I'm not really an artist myself. I wish I were as talented as Seurat or Van Gogh, but paint is not particularly a medium I excel at."

"I don't think I've drawn anything since elementary school art class. I was never very good at making a symmetrical circle." Mark smiled at his own joke.

"It's a stress reliever for me, really. I don't plan to make a career out of it or anything," I admitted.

"What about you?" I prodded. "What are your plans?"

"I took a job as a staff accountant at the start of this year to get some experience. I plan to be in corporate finance eventually. I think I’ll most likely move to Atlanta or Charlotte after graduation and look for a good finance job."

"Oh? Do you have family there?" I asked, trying to get some back story on his life.

Shaking his head Mark answered, "No, my family is all here. That's part of the appeal of the East coast," he laughed.

Not a family guy. Noted.

"My goal is to work somewhere where I can do financial planning and analysis for a fortune 500 company. I'm especially adept at forecasting and projecting for the future…" He babbled on and on and I found myself daydreaming.

So far this is a pretty basic first date
, I thought. Nothing unusual, but no sparks. We hadn't really talked much about our personal interests, but the girls had recommended that I let him run the conversation. That meant a lot of awkward silences and talk about senior year and his accounting job. Riveting.

Twenty minutes later the conversation stalled again. Mark ordered a second beer while he proceeded to tell me about his love for working out. I shook my head as he talked about lifting weights and how he was thinking about entering an all-natural lifter contest.

"You look like you spend some time at the gym yourself. You don't have a lot of muscle, but I can see some good tone," he observed while his eyes scanned my body.

Oh creeptastic, that was a backhanded compliment if I ever heard one. I was spared the need to answer when he stood up.

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" he asked politely. I agreed and smiled, watching as he headed for the restroom.

Ugh. This was torture. What were you supposed to talk about with someone you didn’t know? I took the last sip of my drink and glanced up to ask for a glass of ice water. My original bartender was nowhere to be seen, however bartender #2 was looking at me again. His eyebrow lifted in a silent question, and I mouthed my request. Nodding, he pulled a glass, filled it with water and garnished it with a slice of lemon. I admired the easy grace of his movements behind the bar. On his way to bring me my glass, he grabbed two beer bottles with one hand and popped the tops; handing them over to two men sitting a few seats down from me.

"Water," he confirmed when he was in front of me. His voice held a slight accent I couldn't place. "Can I get you another drink?"

"I'm good," I answered, a polite smile on my face. "Thanks, though."

"Let me know if you need anything at all," he drawled as he straightened up; his gaze switching to something behind me.

A moment later a hand touched my shoulder, causing me to jump at the contact. I knew it was Mark's by the smell of the overpowering cologne that suddenly wafted around me. Even so, I kept my sights on the bartender with the
extremely
becoming accent as I thanked him for the offer.

"Another beer, mate?" he asked Mark, keeping his eyes on mine. There was something compelling about his warm brown eyes, not to mention his seductive
Australian
accent.

Mark gave me a less than gentle squeeze on my shoulder and maintained his position behind me. Worried by the feeling, I glanced over my shoulder and was surprised to see Mark glaring at the bartender. A jealous streak might impress me if I'd known the man for more than an hour, but after the less-than-stimulating conversation Mark and I had carried on, I wasn’t going to get all weak in the knees over the less-than-subtle pissing contest he seemed to be having with Mr. Aussie.

Mr. Aussie's eyes squinted a bit as they rested on my shoulder and Mark’s solid grip there, then he straightened up and stepped back. Turning, he called over his shoulder, "John will take care of you if you need anything else."

'John' as it turned out was our original bartender, and was returning to the bar as Mr. Aussie walked away. Mark started pulling up his chair again when I decided to end the date.

"You know what? I totally forgot about an early appointment I have for tomorrow. I should really be going," I fabricated as I pulled out a few dollars for my drink.

"Are you sure? It's not even eight o'clock, yet."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry. It was nice to meet you though." I set my cash down on the bar and offered my hand to Mark for a friendly shake. When his grip tightened on mine and he began to pull me forward, presumably for a kiss, I turned my head and feigned a cough.

As I walked past the bar, I could have
sworn
that I heard a low chuckle follow me. However, when I turned my glance slightly towards the bar, Mr. Aussie was busy making conversation with two new patrons in skin tight minis and plunging necklines.

I found the house empty when I walked in from my abbreviated date with Mark. Part of me felt bad for ending it so quickly, but if the chemistry wasn't there, it wasn't there. I’d promised Candace I would shoot her a text when I was home so she would know I was alright. Washing up and climbing into bed with a new book, I quickly pulled out my phone and sent a group text to both Sara and Candace.

Me: Mark = caveman dud. in other news i'm pretty sure i saw that new bartender you two were raving over last week. yes, please with a side of butter ;) <3 you two (even if my first date sucked!)

A quick reply from Sara read:

Sara: the fun is just beginning! jack is tomorrow ;)

Friday - April 26, 2013

Seven Weeks until "The Wedding"

Date #2 - Jack

Here goes date number two
, I sighed to myself as I strolled into The Garage, rocking my LBD and kick ass red high heels. It was Friday night, seven p.m. and the bar was hopping.

"Savannah!" a voice yelled out, followed by a whistle I totally recognized as Riley's. I looked towards his DJ booth and found him giving me an emphatic thumbs up. I returned his smile with a jaunty wink and he returned to setting up his equipment for the night. I was tempted to walk over and chat, until I spotted a casually dressed cutie fitting Jack's description sitting alone at the bar. He was talking to one of the female bartenders and nursing a beer.

Mouthing over to Riley that I had a date, I blew him a kiss instead. He made me crack up at his antics when he grabbed my air kiss, ate it and then dramatically clutched his heart. He then made an hour glass figure with his hands, which made me blush fifteen shades of red and yank down my ultra-tight skirt.

"Jack?" I asked after slowly making my way to his side. The poofy-haired blond female bartender he was talking to pulled back and nodded my way when he didn't seem to hear me at first.

"Jack?"

"Yeah, that's me," he replied, swiveling around on his stool to check me out. "Shit," he muttered, eying me. His jaw fell open to the floor like a cartoon character’s. Now - I don't try to profess to be ‘all that and a bag of chips’, but I
did
keep myself in shape, so I knew I looked pretty dang good in my skin tight dress; hence why I was wearing it. But this dude was looking at me like I was his next meal. It was slightly unnerving that he couldn't seem to control his thoughts.

"
You're
Savannah?

"Hi." I held out my hand. "You seem surprised."

"Well, you know, I’ve learned not to trust those pictures people put up on the dating sites. Photoshop can do wonders for some girls." He grimaced and pretended to shudder as he maintained his firm hold on my hand.

I tugged my fingers free from his grip and stood there waiting for him to suggest we take a seat at a table. Unfortunately he simply remained seated; his eyes roaming lasciviously over my figure. When he made no move to seat me or suggest another table, I finally pulled an empty stool out and slid onto it.

"So, are you a student, Jack?"

"No, actually I run promotions at Shooters on Broadway. Are you a clubbing type of girl?"

"I'm sorry?" I questioned; unsure if I’d heard him correctly.

"Clubbing. This place is pretty tame. Shooters is much more of a party club with a local DJ, contests and black lighting."

Shooters? Oh joy
, I thought as I answered him. "Nah, I don't spend a lot of time on Broadway. It's so crowded with tourists and-"

"Tourists make the club scene way more entertaining. You either watch a bunch of dumb, middle aged people get drunk and act like idiots, or you find a group of bachelorette party girls looking for a ‘love it and leave it’ type of night."

"Mmmhmmm," I nodded. I was pretty sure I just threw up a little in my mouth. Did he seriously just imply that he regularly hit up the girls on Broadway for one night stands?

"You know, Savannah, we do a lot of contests at my bar for hot chicks like you. You could possibly win some pretty good cash doing a wet t-shirt contest or the bikini contest. You know what?" he blurted out, as if he'd suddenly had a brilliant idea. "Can you dance? We’re always in need of some new go-go girls."

"Oh, wow…um yeah, wow Jack," I blubbered, completely at a loss for words. "Thanks for the offer, but um, no. I mean, I'm really not a dancer, you know?" I feigned disappointment. My eyes scanned past Jack's shoulder to see the bartender from the night before silently laughing - at
our
conversation. I swung my face away quickly, trying not to burst into laughter myself.

This "date" was ludicrous. I was pretty sure at this point that Jack basically used the dating site to pick up "hot chicks" for his club. I also had the overwhelming need to use hand sanitizer all over every inch of my body because of the way he kept looking at me.

"I've actually got to head over to Shooters and check on things. You know with it being Friday night, business is always slammed. You want to ride over with me and check it out?" he asked, totally straight-faced like he actually thought I would say yes. "Drinks on me," he added for good measure.

"Gee - thanks for the offer, but I'm gonna have to say no. I appreciate it, though," I lied as I slid out of my stool to help usher his speedy exit.

He had the audacity to pull a card out of his wallet and hand it to me "just in case". As he left, a shiver ran up my spine, causing goosebumps to cover my arms.

"Smart girl," a low voice spoke from behind me.

The Aussie bartender was removing Jack's glass from the bar, and there were several other empty cups cradled in his large hand. I took a moment to surreptitiously check him out now that he wasn't behind the bar. He looked like a fitness cover model. The song ‘Country Girl (Shake It For Me)’ by Luke Bryan came to mind as I looked at the seat of his very tight black jeans. I would
love
to see him shake it for me. His black tee was so tight it was
obscene
, and I saw every muscle in his arms and chest bulge and flex as he moved around.

"Eavesdrop much?" I shot out sarcastically.

"Sorry, I was making sure you didn't end up on a milk carton. That guy was scumbag personified."

"Yeah, don't worry, I figured that out pretty quickly," I affirmed. "Thanks, though."