Roomies

“Oh fine,” she says, lowering her hand. It goes back up when she a

I laugh and do my best to give her a high five that doesn’t completely embarrass both of us, but that’s really not why I’m here.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I tell her, “from what I remember of it, sex is pretty nice, but I’m really not looking for something like that right now.”

She nods awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess you’re—”

“Oh, who am I kidding? I’m an apple tree that needs to be plucked.”

“I thought we just agreed—”

“I know, I know. We really are terrible at that, aren’t we?”

“You said it.”

A

Huh.

We’re twenty feet from the bar when I spot the group that A

A

She points to me, obviously telling them something, but it’s too loud for me to hear what she’s saying, so I walk closer to the group.

“…I mean a long time,” she says. “Leila, we were just talking about you! Come have a seat. Rick, here, is going to buy you a drink. What do you want?”

Drunk in the middle of the day: is this my life now?

“I guess I don’t have to go back to work today. I’ll have a tequila sunrise,” I answer, eliciting a cheer for some reason.

The one that must be Rick—my clever deduction is due to the fact that he’s the one leaning over the bar, ordering my drink—has dark, shoulder-length hair and there’s a tribal armband only partially hidden under his shirtsleeve.

He’s really not my type. I’m more into the clean-cut gentleman, but now that I think of it, the only “clean-cut gentleman” I ever dated was Chad.

What the hell? I’ll see if there’s something to this Rick guy other than the tattoos and the somewhat unsettling look that he’s giving me as he hands over my drink.

Boy, he is really staring me down.

All right, maybe Rick’s not the guy, but I do feel like letting loose and maybe doing something stupid.

“So, what do you guys do?” I ask, sca

“Finance,” they all answer at once.

That explains it.

“We’re in finance, too,” A

“No we’re not,” I rebut. The tone catches the guys off guard. “I mean, we’re in brokerage, but that’s hardly the…” I trail off, realizing just how full of crap I am. If A

A

“Will you guys excuse us for a minute?”

Four men with blank faces nod, startlingly in unison.

We get about ten feet away from the bar when A

“I don’t know,” I hedge. “I guess they’re just not my type.”

“Yeah?” she asks. “What is your type, then?”

I shrug.

“I think I know what the problem is.”

“Yeah?”

If she has any ideas, I’m more than open to hear them.

“You’re scared,” she says. “It’s been so long since you’ve gotten yourself some strange that you don’t know what to do when it’s sitting right in front of you.”

“Strange is a pretty good way to describe it,” I say, looking over at A

“You need to loosen up,” she says. “Now, drink that shit down and I’m going to order us some shots.”

“I didn’t really bring that much—”

“You’re a pretty girl in a bar,” A

“Get what started, though?” I ask, my adventurousness almost completely dissolved already.

“A nice, pleasant, one-hour relationship,” she says. “You need to get someone to clear out the cobwebs.”

“Cobwebs?”

“Right,” she says, “the rule. But you know what I mean. Just take a breath, will you? I’ll tell you what. Go over there and I’ll help you build some confidence.”

“They’re really not—”

“I’m not saying you have to marry any of them,” she says. “Just sit on the stool, drink whatever they buy you—I know you worry about roofies, but I promise, I’ll watch all your drinks, okay? Besides,” she says as she’s walking away, “something happens and we’re going over to your place.”

“What?”

She’s already back at the bar.

In response to something A

“All right,” A

My stomach churns.

“Not vodka,” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes. I’ve been getting that a lot lately.

“Fine, who wants to buy this beautiful woman a shot of bourbon?”

Rick raises his hand like he’s in junior high.

Maybe these guys aren’t so scary after all. Maybe they’re just idiots.

That’s better somehow, right?

“All right,” A

He blushes and looks away.

Yep. Not scary: idiot.

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Go on,” A

“Well,” he says, “she’s got—”

“Don’t tell me, tell her,” A

This has to be the most uncomfortable moment of my life.

“You’re very pretty,” he says. “You’re tall, but not too tall. I like the way your hair catches the light.”

His friends are laughing at him, but this isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

“Okay, you three,” A

“I don’t—” I start, but A

“You’ll be fine,” she says. “I’ll be right over there.”

She doesn’t indicate where “there” is, but I suppose I’ll live.

“Now,” she says to Rick, “go on.”

She leads the other three away and my shot arrives.

I down it without prompting, and Rick starts again.

“I don’t know,” he says. “This is kind of uncomfortable.”

It is uncomfortable, very uncomfortable, but I haven’t really had a man talk to me in so long that I tell him to, “Keep going.”

He sighs. “Well,” he says, “your hair reminds me of picking up chestnuts when I was a kid. I know that sounds weird, but—”

“It’s okay,” I smile. “Go on.”

“Your eyes,” he says, “I don’t know, they’re like really blue.”

Okay, so he’s no poet.

“One more over here!” I call to the bartender.

The barkeep brings me another shot and I down it.

Bourbon just might be my drink. I haven’t felt the need to vomit once.

“Go ahead,” I say.

“This is too weird,” he says. “We just met, and I’m sitting here going on like I’m Wilhelm Shakespeare.”

“You’re really not,” I tell him.

Really, he’s not. “Wilhelm” Shakespeare would probably know his own name.

“Why don’t we just sit here and talk,” I say. “Where are you from?”

After the initial fear, pity and revulsion, Rick and I actually start to hit it off.

He’s into foreign films, I’m into foreign films. Of course, he’s more Godzilla and kung fu while I’m more Amélie and 8 ½, but it’s something. He likes horse racing, and I like horses ru