“I dunno. It just feels like she only wants to be with me because I’m a doctor at Paramount Hospital. Like, I don’t even know if she trulylikesme,” I say, feeling self-conscious.
It’s not like I have a ton of dating experience. I left home when Iwas young and put myself through college, and then medical school. I had brief relationships, but nothing serious because I was so focused on school. When Nicolette approached me in the hospital cafeteria last Spring, I didn’t even realize she was flirting with me until Lance spelled it out for me a week later.
“I mean. Isn’t that why you came here for your residency? You don’t move to Paramount to stay single. With any luck, I’ll find some hot lady and start getting settled into high society in Fructose Hills,” Lance says as we walk into the bar. The music is loud, and it’s already busy.
“Yea. I guess,” I say reluctantly.
Why is everyone so okay with this? Am I that naive? I moved to Paramount because the professional opportunities are the best here. The pediatric medicine program is in the top five in the country. Dr. Nash is one of the most renowned pediatric cardiologists in the world. She’s an incredible mentor and teacher. I didn’t move here to find a wife. Maybe I’ve been too focused on school and work that I missed the memo to get the move on with my life.
I get a flash of the next few years of my life, and it’s filled with pretentious parties. Nicolette’s on my arm, bragging about the work I’m doing in pediatric cardiology, while stroking her pregnant belly. It’s not that I don’t want a family, and a future. It just feels so plain, and predictable. Lance is right, and I just need to lean into this life I’ve been carving out for myself.
It’s the right thing to do, Jon.
After our first round of beer, a young, boisterous group of women comes marching into the bar. All of them are squealing and laughing. Dressed in bright pink except for the one woman in white, with a sash and a tiara. Another bachelorette party. We get them a lot down here. It’s a great party destination with the beach and top restaurants. The group of ladies rush to the bar to order drinks and as I’m turning back to talk to Lance, my eyes catch on an absolute stunner. She’s a human shockwave, and she literally steals my breath.
“Whoa. I think she got on the wrong bus,” Lance says, noticing the same woman.
I don’t respond. My mouth is dry for a different reason. My heart has stopped pumping blood to the rest of my body, channeling it all to one specific organ. I’ve never seen a woman like her before. She’s tall and muscular. She could break me in half if she wanted to.And I wouldn’t mind if she did. Her shiny, ink-colored hair falls past her shoulders, which are showcased in her open-back, black halter dress. She has this wild femininity to her; her body is like a walking painting, beautiful, bright colors all over her arms and legs. Her face catches the light and I realize it’s a small piercing above her top lip. Her full, pouty lips that naturally curve into a smile that screams she’s up to no good.
I catch the glare she directs at the bachelorette party, and finds herself an empty seat at the bar. The ladies in pink, along with the bride, move to the open dance floor, singing along to the obnoxious pop song.
“Well, might as well try meeting my own future Mrs. in that group,” Lance says, downing the rest of his beer.
He shuffles onto the dance floor and is immediately swarmed by three of the ladies in pink. It doesn’t take much for Lance to attract the opposite sex. He’s tall, lean, dark-skinned, and then he starts talking with his deep voice, and women practically turn to goo right in front of him. I’ve never been very outgoing with women; I’ve never made the first move. So, I guess I should consider myself lucky that Nicolette picked me.
My eyes keep darting over to the tall, tattooed woman at the opposite end of the bar. She’s surrounded by a bunch of guys. She’s smiling and laughing, dazzling the group with her world-class smile. She hasn’t looked over at meat all, which has me feeling slightly bitter. She’s giving those other dudes her attention, but I can see it in her eyes that she’s acting; she’s bored.
I should probably stop staring at her, but she’s so interesting. Everyone in Paramount is clean-cut and very preppy. It’s a weird mixture of the Upper East Side, L.A., and European gentry. I struggle to fit in, and this mystery woman isn’t even trying to blend in; this woman is so unique. It’s like looking at a wildflower in a field ofperfect, white roses. She demands attention. And she’s got mine.And my dick’s.I scold myself for even thinking about another woman in this way. If Nicolette were here, she’d burn my eyes with a hot poker just for looking.
I keep my attention on my half-full beer and scroll through my phone. I ignore the way the hottest woman I’ve ever seen dances by herself, shoving away any guy who tries to touch her, but she does it in a way that’s playful and has them eating out of the palms of her hands. She then climbs up onto the bar and starts shaking and shimmying her hips to the rhythm of the music and I can’t stop my eyes from watching the bottom of her ass cheeks peek out from her short dress.
I could never do anything like that. This woman is lively and spontaneous. Too unpredictable for a guy like me.I’m not available, anyway!
“Hey! Stop! Knock it off!” a woman from the bridal party shrieks, trying to wriggle away from some drunk guy who’s grinding on her.
I can’t hear what he’s saying to her, but he just continues groping her and pushing her towards a dark corner. Before I have a chance to get out of my chair, there’s a loud clang of a stool hitting the floor.
“Get away from her, fucking creep!”
The tall, tattooed, Amazonian has the guy in a headlock as she pulls him off the petite, blonde woman he was dancing with.
“What the? Margeaux, stop!”
“Get this psycho-bitch off me!”
“She said ‘no’, asshole!” The wild woman yells, getting the attention of everyone in the bar. The DJ has even lowered the music.
A large brawl starts to erupt in the middle of the bar. This is Paramount. People don’t get into bar fights. Maybe on the north end in Divine Springs, but not here.
The bartenders and the bouncers at the door yank the woman off the guy. He’s got a bloody nose and a bruise forming under his left eye. She has both arms held back by one of the bouncers as she continues thrashing to get loose.
“For fuck’s sake, Margeaux. It’s called playing hard to get!” The woman in pink shouts.
Hmm. I guess she knows the women in the bachelorette party. Then why wasn’t she hanging out with them?
“No fighting, missy!” the bouncer says to the woman-Margeaux.
“Missy? She’s a fucking dude!” The dude she had in a headlock roars. He looks familiar, but I can’t remember his name right now. “Probably pumping testosterone every day. Aren’t ya, bitch?”
