The crotch of my panties feels cool against my skin.
This is beyond embarrassing.
Check, please.
Six
ADRIENNE
“You’rethe super serious type, huh?” he asks after his laughter slows down.
“Because I don’t get your wacko sense of humor?”
“You actually looked scared for a second.” He snickers.
Before I can retort, the server returns with my margarita and chicken finger basket.
“Here you go.”
She slides my food and drink in front of me but is staring at misterI’m So Funnythe entire time. My drink is practically sloshing around in the glass, and I have to bend down and take a quick sip to make sure none of it spills over the rim onto the table. She doesn’t even ask if I need extra ketchup or napkins as she damn near sits in his lap to focus only on him.
“And how about you, love? Would you like something from the kitchen or can I get you something else from the bar?”
She’s blatantly flirting with him right in front of me and while I understand the attraction, believe me I do, I’m also taken aback. I mean, in another universe this guy could actually bemydate and she would be acting very disrespectfully. Of course, I live on planet “I don’t give a damn” so I let it go. Men are off the menu for the foreseeable future, and if I’m going to be absolutely honest about things, I’m often overlooked or dismissed by people all the time. Why should she be any different?
I have always known that I may not be the first woman people pay attention to upon first sight. Sure, I’m attractive once I’ve doneall the thingslike stylize my hair, put on makeup, wear a nice outfit with appropriate shaping undergarments–and that’s ok. I’ve accepted that. My looks have never been my focus and aren’t my superpower. My work ethic is. I wasn’t blessed with a genetically perfect body, or superior intelligence, or a lot of powerful connections, but what I am is a hard worker. That’s how I got into the medical school of my choice at twenty-years-old and how I’ve almost completed a demanding and competitive residency earlier than most of my peers.
“You can bring me another round and another of whatever she’s having,” he says as he hands her his credit card.
“No, that’s ok–”
“It’s the least I could do for the seat you so graciously gave up,” he replies sarcastically.
I roll my eyes. “Another taste of your unusual sense of humor?”
He grins underneath the brim of his cap, obviously very impressed with himself.
“No, I am very sincere about how gracious you are. That must have been a hard decision for you.”
“Sure, why not, smart ass,” I reply. “I’ll take another.”
The plan is to get plastered anyway, so I’m sticking to the plan. And why not have him pay for the drinks? I’ll consider it the beginning of reparations from his entire gender.
The server noticeably blinks as she looks at the credit card, then slides it in the pocket of her apron. “Be right back,” she almost hums her parting words as she switches her hips away from us and towards the bar.
The song I selected on the jukebox played a second time automatically, but has finally ended. Now there’s a silence between us I feel the need to anxiously fill with words. Everyone in the bar is talking but us, and since it’s clear that we’ll be sharing a table tonight, I start with what is easiest for me to discuss, medicine.
“So what happened to your arm?” I ask as I take a huge swig of my drink.
“It’s actually my shoulder. I broke my collarbone.”
“That’s a pretty serious injury,” I respond. “How did you manage to do that?”
He pauses for a moment before he responds, as if he’s struggling for the right answer. That’s a red flag. He’s a liar. See, I’m getting smarter already.
“Never mind,” I offer him an out. “It’s none of my business.”
“I got into a fight,” he replies.
