Mr. Fuckability Ch. 01

I'm sitting at a corner table in new swanky bar downtown watching people make their way into the pub, cross over the billiards section, and arrive at the main liquor trough. The whole time I am wondering how I got here. No, not the bar, I took the L for that. What I'm trying to figure out is how I have arrived at this place in my life.

The place where I think it is a good idea, a healthy one even, to be hanging out with a bunch of girls who are about to call into question my moral code. Enthusiastically, call into question, I might add.

It's a thing with us, the Mr. Fuckability contest. We hit a new bar every third Saturday of the month, preferable one that none of us have been to before, less likelihood of meeting a former contestant that way.

A few basic rules to the game: everyone has to agree on the target. One girl is selected by way of drawing straws. The last girl to play holds the straws for the next round thereby making her exempt from the night's activities. And there is a prize for all this. Drum roll, please... The last player gets to pick what the new player has to do.

We always meet up the next day for a full debriefing; pun intended, at Monuts, the local coffee shop owned by, you guessed it, a guy named Mo with a passion for dough. Or at least that's what the slogan says.

I've been lucky in the past, only drawing the short straw once, so my hands always start to sweat a little when the lineup comes.

Jess, my best frenemy, lines up the straws in her well-manicured fingers. She is exempt from this round, her price for freedom: doggy style by the pool in the freshman college dorm. Evidently, there had been quite an audience. The swim team had an early practice and rumor had it the head coach may never recover.

Jess keeps glancing up at me, and then shuffling the straws. Glance. Shuffle. Glance. Shuffle. I can practically smell the brimstone in the smug look she is giving me, mentally willing me to get the short straw. I shiver. God only knew what her freak-a-deeky little mind is thinking up. Out of all of us, Jess is by far the most sexually liberated. I am the polar opposite. If there is a sexual spectrum than she is the east and I am the west. I am the most reserved girl in our group, hell, probably the whole bar.

So why am I here? Well, my life is so boring that I, on occasion, hang out with my neighbor's dog just to have somebody to talk to. Yes, I know how pathetic that sounds. Now you understand why someone who spent their high school years with her nose stuck in the Bronte sister's books would be out doing what we are about to do.

"Come on girls gather round, you know what time it is." Jess cackles. She sounds frightening like the crazy witch from Harry Potter and a sense of foreboding chases goose bumps up my arm. She holds up her glass; we all clink, then tilt them up and drain them.

"Jess has been bragging all week that she's going to rock somebody's world. I can't wait to see what she has us doing now!" Georgia giggles leaning up on her arms making Groucho Marx eyebrows at me across the table.

Georgia is precisely what her sweet, deeply southern accent promises. Short, curvy, cute face, and pigtails that no one over twelve should be able to get away with, but she has a baby doll face, so it works for her.

Natalie, our final participant in the Mr. Fuckability Contest leans back sipping a water to chase the liqueur she has just downed. She has a smile on her lips, her eyes trolling the bar alight with possibilities. She's always the first to point out a potential target. If I come along for the company and excitement, then she comes along for the sheer joy of ring mastering this insanity.

Jess is the sexual conductor, Natalie the spotter, Georgia the cheerleader, and I...am clearly out of my mind for being here. Still that doesn't stop me from sticking my hand on the end of one of the available straws when they are offered. Peer pressure is a bitch.

Jess counts to three and everyone pulls. I don't have to look at the other two girls to know that I have the shortest straw. It falls out of my hand rolling ominously on the table like Edgar Allan Poe's tell tale heart.

BA dump, Ba dump, BA dump, Ba dump.

It should not have had that much natural momentum.

BA dump, Ba dump. BA dump, Ba dump.

Jess howls in distinct joy. I cringe, the sound making me even more worried about my impending future.

Georgia just giggles and says something that I can't make out, but the encouraging tone and cheerful smile tell me it would be something to the effect of "Oh it's going to be fun," or "You only live once." The stupid things your friends tell you right before they convince you to do something that will get you arrested or worse, on You Tube.

Jess gives me a once over and I see a familiar instigating glint creep back into her dark, heavily lined eyes. Jess knows me the best out of everyone. We are probably the closest of all the girls. unfortunately, because she knows me so well, she also knows how shy I can and considers it her personal mission in life to push me beyond my boundaries. Actually, Jess will try to push past reason in general if given the opportunity, but she holds a special place in her heart, and there by, her evil little plans for me. I think it's because she knows I wouldn't be nearly as outgoing as I have become with out her constant badgering to "just go do it already". I both loved her and hated her for the same reason, however, when she get's this gleam in her eyes she flat out scares the shit out of me. She smiles up fluttering her lashes and bearing more teeth than Jaws. Yep, this is definitely going to be one of the times our love/hate relationship is going to falls on the hate side. She leans up on her elbows and practically purrs as she waves us forward to hear my sentence.

"You have got to take one of these poor bastards home, tie him up, go all dominatrix on his ass, fuck him senseless, and leave him in the lurch. This one is perfect for you Danni, if anyone needs a little bad girl in them, honey, it's you." She cocked her pierced eyebrow at me.

I can't see myself, but I know that I have turned a very humiliating shade of red. The heat in my cheeks gives it away.

"I can't do that. I'm not even sure that's legal. Besides it's not exactly like I carry rope or handcuffs around with me."

The truth is I'm about the least dominant female at the table. I don't have an authoritative bone in my body. I can't even make the neighbor's dog sit on command. Something in Jess' smug grin tells me she is thinking the same thing and has no intention of letting me slide. I watch as she leans down to grab her purse. I realize I have clearly underestimated Jess when she pulls a pair of handcuffs from her purse. She carefully lays them on the table, biting her bottom lip as she slides me the key.

"Don't lose this. It's the only one I have."

I look down at the cuffs and know that they were not bought for tonight. Eww. Maybe I can wash them off in the bathroom or something?

She sits back crossing her arms over her chest. A smug curl to her lips says she is enjoying every minute of this. She probably rigged the straws.

"Cuff him, fuck him, drop the key in his hand, and walk out. Are you up for this?"

Oh, Jesus was I up for this? Hell no, I wasn't up for this. When is anybody ever up for this? I am starting to panic, and we haven't even picked a target yet.

"I don't think she has enough balls to do it." Jess looks at Natalie for encouragement, who shakes her head in agreement clearly egging me on.

"Sure she will. Come on Danielle, who knows you might actually like it. They always say it's the quiet ones that end up being the most surprising." Georgia reaches over to squeeze my hand reassuringly. It doesn't help.

"Oh, Oh, how about him." Natalie points to a pair of combat boots ripped up jeans, and a leather jacket.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, maybe for Jess." I say sitting back with a huff.

"He has a nice ass," Georgia says.

"He probably is an ass." I mutter back under my breath. Bad boys just aren't my type. Give me a stiff collared nice guy any day.

"Na, she's right. It would work for me, but she's too uptight for him." Jess says.

I bristle at the unintended insult but still breathe a sigh of relief because insulting or not; I don't want to try to tie up Leather Jacket. Somehow I just don't see him as the one ending up in the cuffs. That thought makes my inner control freak go spastic, and my right eye twitch.

I wave down the waitress for something stronger than the chardonnay I am currently drinking. I am going to need some liquor to make it through tonight, if I'm really lucky I will black out completely and not remember a thing, then nun's my conscience will not have to be horrified in the morning. Maybe if I wake up early I can make it to church before Monuts? Go ahead and schedule an appointment to repent for the sins I am about to commit.

"Holy shit, Hel-Lo Mr. Fuckability." Natalie sits up straighter, the movement jarring me from my thoughts.

I look up to see a wicked twinkle in her eyes. It isn't until Jess's mouth falls open in a dead pan stare that I know this is something different. My nerves explode into nuclear meltdown status as I follow their line of vision.

"Holy shit." I hear myself agree in a breathy voice.

The first thing I notice is the way he scans the room, his gaze sharp, unwavering. Almost analytical in the intense way he moves his head from left to right and back, like he hasn't missed a single detail in the whole room with that brief glance.

His eyes round back to settle on mine.

I stare back, agape, unable to stop myself. His eyes stay on mine just a moment past proper.

Dark, angular brows pull down low over the greenest eyes I have ever seen. They sparkle like razor cut emeralds; sharp and perfect. He is wearing a dark suit that stretches across wide shoulders, the white of his shirt stark against the dark pattern of the tie. His cuff links wink at his wrist as he crosses to the bar. His shoes are un-scuffed, and glossy.

He reeks of money and class. The way he strolls through the crowd all rolling shoulders and swagger of hips leaves me with a strange sense of his carefully contained animalistic power. This is not a man born to wealth. He has a lean, hungry look about him that says he has earned every penny for himself.

Just the sight of him has me squirming in my seat. No way can I pick up a guy like him. I'm not in the same solar system as this guy, let alone the same league.

I try to look away, but my eyes are non responsive.

My brain is to busy drooling.

"I think we have a winner." Georgia claps her hands together like an excited child.

She has been watching me while I have been watching Him. I feel that awful scarlet tinged heat creep up from my throat and all the way to my cheeks and curse my pale skin for being so obvious.

"What happens if he's not interested?" I drop my eyes to my drink and concentrate on taking a sip because I don't want them to see the panic in my eyes. I can do nothing about the tremble in my hands.

Natalie waits until the waitress has brought me another drink before she leans forward on the table and shakes her head at me.

"Honey you don't give yourself enough credit. You look like a Catholic girl version of Cameron Diaz. I'm sure he will be interested. Guys love that sweet and innocent look. Just go up and give it a try."

That's the problem; it really isn't a look; it is more of a lifestyle. I have never tried to pick up a guy before and the thought of doing it now in front of all of my friends and especially Him has me wishing I am at home snuggled up on the bed watching TV with my Teddy Bear, Ed, as my pillow.

Still, this is why I am here. Left to my own devices I would be at home with Ed as my only companion. These girls push me outside my boundaries, and even though I might not like it now, I know they mean well. This is the age I should be out making bad decisions and trying new things, after all, I'm twenty-three not sixty-three as Jess so often reminds me.

"And what if I go up there and make a complete idiot of myself?" I hiss back at Natalie.

"Then we all have a good laugh and you try again. This is supposed to be fun."

This was so not what I thought of as a fun. In fact, at this moment, I am pretty sure it qualifies as a form of torture. Did I really want to hang out with these people that badly? I thought of Ed again, soft, fuzzy, and invitingly lonely on my bed. I sigh; yes of course I want to hang out with them. They are my best friends, my only friends, hell they are the closest thing to family I have left. I notice I'm worrying the pendant on my necklace again, dragging it from side to side, and mentally roll my eyes. I remind myself for the bazillionth time since leaving work Friday to stop doing it. It's a bad habit, like biting your finger nails. When I get nervous I run the pendant on my necklace back and forth like a jackrabbit on speed. Zip-Zip. Zip-Zip.

The pendant never fails to make me think of Mom. The papery way her frail hands felt squeezing mine when she handed me the box; it had been her last present to me. I hadn't realized it at the time, but it hadn't been far from the end. Her were eyes almost wild as they looked into mine, her voice a soft rasp.

"Promise me you will do something adventurous, something wild, and young, Honey. I don't want you to shut yourself away when I'm gone. I want you to start living your life and stop worrying so much over what is practical." Her frail voice echoes through all of my turbulent nerves like a sonar pulse. I had found these friends on that promise, now it was time to see how much further it could take me.

I drain half of my drink in one swallow as I scoot back from the table, taking a deep breath, and stand up to start walking towards the bar. I can do this. I can totally do this. Who cares if he laughs in my face? I've lived through worse, much worse.

Despite my courageous words, I can still hear my heart beat drumming through my ears at the volume of a punk rock band as I walk towards him. The constant Ba-Bump getting louder and quicker the closer I step to the bar. I am half way across the billiards area when I feel his eyes land on me. I make the mistake of looking up.

The moment his eyes meet mine, I feel a jolt of electricity run through me. His eyes don't slide over mine as I had expected them to, casually dismissing me. Instead his eyes slide to mine, start to slide past, and then slam right back into mine and hold there.

My breath catches. I feel my sure footsteps come to a stuttering halt. He is better looking up close, wide lips, strong jaw, dark hair, razor blade cheekbones. His green eyes are turbulent with some kind of emotion that I can't quite figure out.

The pool cue comes out of nowhere knocking me hard in the cheek under my right eye. My vision blurs. My natural instinct is to cup the affected area. So that's what I do, forgetting the glass in my hand.

The ice and what is left of my Blue Hawaii go flying, dousing the man who has just clubbed me in the face. I start to apologize but don't get the chance as one of the ice cubes bounces off his face, falling into my shirt. It starts a slow, extraordinarily cold stream down my chest, into my bra, coming to a halt right between the girls.

I scream swatting at the ice. It doesn't work. I turn away from the heavy handed table jockey, yank down my top and reach inside.

I don't notice Mr. Fuckability or the nice view down the front of my shirt I am giving him until the ice is firmly in my hand and on its way out.

His face is completely readable now and it is stuck somewhere between gut wrenching humor and horrid fascination. I understand the sentiment; I am the train wreck you can't help but stop to watch.

Great.

I feel myself go hot all over despite the ice path still dripping between my breasts. It isn't the good kind of hot, the kind you get when a nice looking guy checks you out. It is the bad kind of hot. The kind of hot that you get when you think it might ACTUALLY BE POSSIBLE to die of embarrassment. In fact, you begin to pray for it.

I wave away the guy who is wearing the rest of my drink as he tries to apologize for mistaking my face for the cue ball. All I want to do is get the hell out of here and the bathroom is the closest escape. I dive for it.

The bathroom is blissfully empty as I make my way to the mirrors above the sink. I survey my appearance for damage control. It's like looking in the mirror to discover Goth me. A small section of my blond hair has a blue tint from the drink and I have a big red circle that looks tattooed onto the side of my face from the pool stick.

Perfect, cause only my nights would end up like this.

The red circle I can't do anything about so I grab a towel and begin to blot my hair. When I am satisfied with it I touch gingerly at the red dot. It wasn't swelling. Maybe it wouldn't even be bruised?

Wish I could say the same for my ego, I thought, remembering the way those green eyes had bugged out of Mr. Fuckability's eye sockets at the site of me flashing him. No way in hell I can go out there and pick up anyone in this bar. Not after I have made such a complete and total ass of myself.

I eyeball the window near the ceiling to my right. It is too tall for me to reach without climbing on the sink. It is also too small for me to fit through without worrying about getting stuck and wouldn't that just add insult to injury.

I can just see myself stuck in the window as they call the police to get me out. My legs wiggling in desperation, ass stuck at face height because my hips were too wide to make it through. Damn my chunky thighs.

This is why skinny chicks don't end up on you tube. They can fit through the god damn windows.

I turn back to study my reflection in the mirror. Maybe I can just walk back out, slide along the wall, and slip into a chair at the table unnoticed?

Yea right.

The way those green eyes had scanned the room, not to mention my cleavage, let me know he didn't miss much. I brace my hands on either side of the sink, hang my head, close my eyes, and take three deep breaths. I can do this. I just need to gather my whits and go back out there like I haven't just been reamed in the face by a pool stick and flashed the best looking guy in the bar.

Ugh.

Three more breaths.

"There's no place like home. There's no place like home." I moan clicking my heels together.

"I don't think that works out side of Oz."

I jump, squealing at the low voice over my shoulder. I whirl around only to be stopped short by a pair of incredibly green eyes.

"What are you doing in here?" I gasp, fully prepared to be offended. He looks perplexed for a moment then his eyes lit up like California in fire season. He clears his throat when I continue to just stare at him.

"I...um...need to use a urinal." He slides his hands into his pockets, rocks back on his heels and looks me up and down as if taking my measure and finding it significantly amusing.

He laughs, an appealingly low, gruff sound that rattles my nerves to tight wire status. It is a very sexy sound. Then my brain catches up to what he has just said.

Holy Hell!

My eyes go incredibly wide as I swing my head around taking in my surroundings for the first time. My mouth drops open as I try to formulate a response. The only thing I can think is how did I miss the damn urinals? My mouth, unsure what to do when left to its own devices trots obligingly behind my train of thought.

"Urinals?" I squeak well into the Betty Boop range now.

This time he looses the battle with the grin he has been fighting. It spreads wide across his face, taking an already handsome face well into the devastatingly gorgeous range. Jesus, what a smile.