“I’ll take option A for five hundred dollars, Alex,” she quipped with that sadness still coating her words.
Merlin obviously read her tone too because he slid her empty glass of Jack away from her and slid a beer in front of her.
“Why is that?” I asked.
She tilted her head and stared at me with those baby blues of hers.
And at her next words, I knew that the whiskey she had been drinking was obviously working.
Because she steered our conversation in a different direction than the one we were on.
“Well, in order to get married, you have to have a fiancé ask you that important as all get out question, you know, the willingness to tie yourself to another person. In order for that to happen, you have to have that connection with someone else. That soul-shattering, earth-rocking connection. Then, for that to happen, you have to have a boyfriend. And then for all that to happen, you have to meet the perfect person. Not the perfect person in a sense, but the perfect person for you. Imperfectly perfect.” She said without ever breaking eye contact with me.
I wasn’t stupid.
I hadn’t gotten to where I was by being stupid.
I knew that every man and woman alike in the clubhouse was quiet as they listened to her explanation.
So, I asked, “Why can’t that happen?”
“Because people are fucking idiots.” She said with a no-bullshit straight face.
“I heard that,” I said as I tipped my beer to her and then took a pull.
Once I swallowed that down, I asked, “I know why people are idiots, but why are you saying people are idiots?”
I didn’t know that with her words, she was going to describe a dream I’d had ever since I realized what I was missing in my life.
“Because things aren’t like they used to be back in the old days. People get together for money. They get together to hurt someone else. Vindictive. It used to be you met someone, and you knew. You just knew. You didn’t waste your time on someone who didn’t deserve you. You knew. Back then, sure, people cheated, but it isn’t like it is now. Also, people back then were what you saw. They didn’t have a veil over their face, then once they got the one they wanted, they did a complete one-eighty, and then you're that person either lying in a hospital bed after you swore he would never lay his hands on you, or you're sitting in a jail cell for beating the fuck out of someone for being in your bed with your woman.”
She rambled on, but damn if she didn’t hit every single fucking thing I’ve ever thought about how shit should be.
“How pathetic is this? The most handsome man I have ever seen, and I’m fucking rambling, ranting, and raving. Did I just rhyme?” she said.
Fuck, but she was cuter than hell.
And what she said?
I had no doubt about my looks.
I knew how people saw me.
Was I flattered every time I got the looks from women and my fair share from men?
Yeah, I was.
But it was different.
This was different.
She wasn’t saying all of that for the hell of it and trying to get in my bed.
No, she was being completely honest.
So, in order not to make her feel worse about herself when she woke up from what I was sure would be a hangover from hell, I said, “Well, you’ve done something that no one has ever done before. So, cheers to that. You managed to pluck my thoughts from my head on what you want out of life.”
She nodded, then tipped her beer in my direction, and then, with a confused frown, she asked, “Are you supposed to mix whiskey with beer?”
