I started thinking October was too far away. I couldn't wait seven months to see him. I'd go crazy.
Luckily, he was having the same feelings.
"Maybe I could take a short trip out there this summer and then come back for a longer trip in October," he suggested one day while we were chatting online. I read it and reread it to make sure I hadn't read it wrong. But sure enough, he wanted to come visit me, and summer was just around the corner.
I called Mom.
"Guess what?? Cayden wants to come visit this summer!"
"I thought he was coming in October?"
"What can I say? He just can't resist."
"Well, that's kind of silly for him to fly out here twice. Why don't you go to London?"
Had I always wanted to go to London? Sure. Ever since I watched What A Girl Wants and fell in love with Oliver James and his adorable accent. I even thought about studying abroad when I was in college just so I could be surrounded by those accents. I still wish I had done that. Maybe I would have met Cayden sooner.
"Well, because I don't have an extra $800 laying around for a plane ticket," I explained.
And yes, I had already looked up flights, and they were all around that price.
"Use dad's flyer miles, he has more than enough to get you to London for free."
Why hadn't I thought about that? My dad travels from Texas to California to New York to China for work, so he had thousands of flyer miles racked up.
"Would he really let me use them? Wouldn't that be a TON of miles? Isn't he saving them for a family trip or something?"
"He has enough, don't worry. Why don't you talk to Cayden and see when a good time would be, and then we'll book it."
Holy crap. This was actually going to happen.
I wanted to call Cayden right away, but it was the middle of the night where he was. I was so excited that night, I hardly slept.
The next morning, I woke up to an email from him saying he woke up in the best mood and was having a great day at work. I replied with the good news. I wanted to call him, but I had to get ready for work, and when we talk on the phone I never seem to want to hang up.
"Wow! My day just gets better and better!"
Cayden is a plans-guy. He always wants to make plans and map out every move of his life. So I wasn't surprised when another email said:
"I can show you all of London! And we get to experience what it'd be like to be with each other. Knowing how we connected in NYC and the way we seem to understand each other, I think it'd be pretty amazing. (That's kind of what I'm hanging on to at the moment, the fact that I just adore your personality). After that, say we decide to give things a go, I'd change my trip plans with Drew in October and visit you instead and probably come over again at Christmas. If things are still going well with us, I'd make the effort to visit every 8 weeks or so next year. On my trips I can try to line up some interviews and kind of combine it with seeing you and getting a job, too. 8 weeks or so between seeing each other wouldn't be as bad to deal with, knowing that I might stand a chance at getting over there with my MBA, so it's just this year would be a bit more difficult.
So say things work out with us after giving it a go and I land a consulting job over there, I know I'd be happy in my job as it's what I want to do, I'd be happy that I'm in the states, and I'd be happy that I'm with you."
I call it Cayden's Master Plan to Happiness.
I don't do plans, but there were a number of things I loved about this one. First and foremost, that he'd come spend Christmas with my family. I'm a family girl to the core, and there's nothing I love more than spending holidays with the people I love. Spending Christmas with Cayden would fit quite nicely in my not-so-Master plan of perfection. The other thing that stood out in his email was the fact that he said he'd come see me every eight weeks. EVERY EIGHT WEEKS!
We compared schedules, and then my dad booked my tickets to London for June 8-14.
This was really going to happen.
---
Brady and I were still messing around now and then, and Cayden knew it (See? I told you I could talk to Cayden about anything.) It bothered him, but he said he couldn't ask me not to until we saw each other again and knew what was going to happen with us.
The thought of Cayden with another girl made me sick to my stomach, so I really wanted to ask him not to see anyone, but knew I couldn't. But he wasn't interested in meeting anyone else, lucky for me.
---
As the date grew closer, he was all I could think about, all I could talk about, all I could write about. Enter: Fairytale Beginning. I had written that first post "Once Upon A Time," the night I met him. I don't know what compelled me to write it all down, but I just had to. I sent it to Cayden once, a while ago, and he loved it. He said, "Even though I know what happens, it makes me want to keep reading!" So I kept writing. Then last month I decided to create this blog as a way of documenting our story. I had no idea so many other people would be interested in reading it, but I've received the most encouraging emails and messages from friends, family, coworkers, and even complete strangers. I can't say thank you enough! Writing this blog has been therapeutic as well. I leave in two days and I'm not freaking out yet. Tomorrow might be another story.
The hardest part about starting this blog was picking a title. A few years ago I interviewed a musician named Brooks Chambers and wrote a story about him for an alternative newsweekly to promote his upcoming show. He sent me his CD, and I was at my desk at work listening to it when the strangest thing happened. One of the songs started and I closed my eyes. I pictured myself slow dancing, held tightly against a man as I rested my head on his shoulder. I never looked up, so I don't know what he looked like. But he was tall, and he could dance. (Which is convenient, because I can't.) I pictured us spinning and dancing while the music played. To say that the song brought tears to my eyes is an understatement. I got lost in the song, and I had goosebumps over every inch of me. The only word I could think of to describe the song was "Beautiful." The song is called Fairytale Ending. Close your eyes and listen to it:
http://www.myspace.com/brookschambers
My favorite lines:
"When you're talking long distance, it's hard to believe that such a short distance could mean a thing."
and
"This fairytale ending is just the beginning, and tomorrow will be just the same."
----
Now that you're all caught up, I'm sure I left a lot of unanswered questions. So this is your chance to ask away! Ask me anything, and tomorrow I'll post all the answers. Have questions for Cayden or Brady? I'm sure they won't mind answering them!
Along with your question, send me your first name and city/state, and I'll post it along with your question and my answer. (If you'd rather remain anonymous, that's totally fine!)
Send questions to me at fairytalebeginning73@gmail.com.
Can't wait to hear from yall!
Showing posts with label accent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label accent. Show all posts
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
15. Accepted
"Look what that bitch did to my back!"
I looked up from unpacking my suitcase to see a 20-something-year-old girl come flying into the apartment, throw her purse onto the couch, and turn her back to Cole, lifting her shirt all the way up to her bra strap. I poked my head out the door to see if I could catch a glance. I wanted to know what the bitch did (not that I knew who the bitch was, or who this girl was in my new living room).
I saw a shiny red scrape, about 4 inches long and an inch or two wide, stretching across the right side of the middle of her back.
"What happened??" Cole asked as he bent down for a closer look.
"Well, I was in the middle of hooking up with John when his girlfriend busts in! She freaked out, pushed me off the loft, and knocked John out cold! I had to hide in the bathroom while she tried to bash the door in. That bitch is crazy!"
She noticed me standing in the doorway, an eager look on my face, waiting to hear more.
"Oh, hi." She said.
Cole laughed and said, "Whitney, this is Maleah, your new roommate. Maleah, meet Whitney."
"Oh, hey!" Maleah said. A big smile spread across her face.
Damn. She was gorgeous. I didn't want a gorgeous roommate (unless it happened to be male, and Maleah was definitely NOT male.) She was Puerto Rican, thin, tan, and had a funky style I knew I'd never be able to pull off. I wanted to hate her.
It was a three bedroom apartment, and I started to wonder about the third roommate. Would it be another beautiful girl I probably wouldn't get along with?
I got my answer later that night. I came home from a trip to Kmart for some necessities, and I heard the shower running. I assumed it was Maleah because Cole had already headed a few doors down to his new apartment. I was hanging my shoe rack on my door when I saw movement in the living room. I swung my door open and saw a startled half naked man standing in the living room. He was only wearing a towel, and his smooth, muscular body had that fresh-out-of-the-shower glisten. I wanted to reach out and touch him. His dark brown hair was cut close, and his big brown eyes looked at me in complete confusion.
"You must be my third roommate," I said, stepping into the living room and holding my hand out to him.
"Oh, so you're in Cole's room? I'm Tristan." I was surprised to hear such a thick French accent come out of his mouth. He let go of his towel to shake my hand. I tried to use mind powers to make the towel drop to the floor. No such luck.
As he walked into his room I snuck a glance at his backside. The towel was stretched tight against his perfect ass. Life was good.
Maleah and I became instant best friends. We spent our Saturday nights clubbing at NYC hot spots and our Sundays recovering over brunch and nine cups of coffee each at Wai or Yaffa Cafe. She introduced me to all of her friends, and everyone accepted me without a second thought.
I don't think Tristan liked to wear clothes, because nine times out of 10 he was only in a towel. Not that I'm complaining.
Two weeks after I moved in, we acquired a third roommate. The day he moved in he asked if I could do his makeup and if he could borrow my heels.
There was nothing like NYC. Was I really ready to leave it for a better job in Texas?
I looked up from unpacking my suitcase to see a 20-something-year-old girl come flying into the apartment, throw her purse onto the couch, and turn her back to Cole, lifting her shirt all the way up to her bra strap. I poked my head out the door to see if I could catch a glance. I wanted to know what the bitch did (not that I knew who the bitch was, or who this girl was in my new living room).
I saw a shiny red scrape, about 4 inches long and an inch or two wide, stretching across the right side of the middle of her back.
"What happened??" Cole asked as he bent down for a closer look.
"Well, I was in the middle of hooking up with John when his girlfriend busts in! She freaked out, pushed me off the loft, and knocked John out cold! I had to hide in the bathroom while she tried to bash the door in. That bitch is crazy!"
She noticed me standing in the doorway, an eager look on my face, waiting to hear more.
"Oh, hi." She said.
Cole laughed and said, "Whitney, this is Maleah, your new roommate. Maleah, meet Whitney."
"Oh, hey!" Maleah said. A big smile spread across her face.
Damn. She was gorgeous. I didn't want a gorgeous roommate (unless it happened to be male, and Maleah was definitely NOT male.) She was Puerto Rican, thin, tan, and had a funky style I knew I'd never be able to pull off. I wanted to hate her.
It was a three bedroom apartment, and I started to wonder about the third roommate. Would it be another beautiful girl I probably wouldn't get along with?
I got my answer later that night. I came home from a trip to Kmart for some necessities, and I heard the shower running. I assumed it was Maleah because Cole had already headed a few doors down to his new apartment. I was hanging my shoe rack on my door when I saw movement in the living room. I swung my door open and saw a startled half naked man standing in the living room. He was only wearing a towel, and his smooth, muscular body had that fresh-out-of-the-shower glisten. I wanted to reach out and touch him. His dark brown hair was cut close, and his big brown eyes looked at me in complete confusion.
"You must be my third roommate," I said, stepping into the living room and holding my hand out to him.
"Oh, so you're in Cole's room? I'm Tristan." I was surprised to hear such a thick French accent come out of his mouth. He let go of his towel to shake my hand. I tried to use mind powers to make the towel drop to the floor. No such luck.
As he walked into his room I snuck a glance at his backside. The towel was stretched tight against his perfect ass. Life was good.
Maleah and I became instant best friends. We spent our Saturday nights clubbing at NYC hot spots and our Sundays recovering over brunch and nine cups of coffee each at Wai or Yaffa Cafe. She introduced me to all of her friends, and everyone accepted me without a second thought.
I don't think Tristan liked to wear clothes, because nine times out of 10 he was only in a towel. Not that I'm complaining.
Two weeks after I moved in, we acquired a third roommate. The day he moved in he asked if I could do his makeup and if he could borrow my heels.
There was nothing like NYC. Was I really ready to leave it for a better job in Texas?
Saturday, May 8, 2010
4. Three-way
I tried to pry one eye open to see what time it was. No luck. Last night's mascara must have united my top and bottom lashes while I slept. If I was drunk enough to forget to wash my face before bed, I knew a headache and the spins were waiting for me as soon as I sat up. Maybe if I try hard enough I can fall back to sleep and put off this hangover for another few hours. I stretched my arm across my bed just to see if I was alone. I was. Jon never sleeps over. He lives with his aunt and cousin, and he thinks it would be disrespectful to stay out all night. So he usually sets an alarm for 3 or 4 am, because he knows I like to cuddle before I fall asleep. But when it's really time for sleep, I roll all the way over to my side of the bed, on my stomach with my face turned away from him. That's just how I sleep. He didn't cuddle me last night though. People didn't leave our party until 3 or 4 anyway. After the fireworks we kept drinking and turned it into a dance party. Lea and I rocked out.
So as people were filing out, I kissed him goodbye and didn't ask him to stay. To be honest, I was still a little bummed Cayden hadn't shown up. It felt a little strange kissing Jon when Cayden's kiss was still fresh on my mind. I put a pillow over my head and prayed for sleep.
Then I heard my text-message alert and I shot up straight. Bad idea. My head swam. My temples throbbed. The good news is, my eyes opened all the way, although I may have lost a few lashes. I needed coffee and a shower, STAT. I looked at my phone and tried to guess who the text was from. Could it be from Cayden? Reaching out just one last time? Just my luck it was from one of last night's party goers asking if I found their shoe on my roof. How do you lose a shoe at a party, make it all the way back to your place via subway, only to find out later you made the trek one stiletto short?
I unlocked my phone and saw it. A new text from that same 15-digit phone number. My headache disappeared along with a strange tension in my stomach I didn't even know was there.
"Hi, Whitney. I'm pretty sure you're blowing me off at this point, but I thought I'd try just one more time. Care for a lunch date?"
AHHHHHH!
"Lea!" I yelled as I ran out of my room. That's when I realized I was still wearing last night's white shorts and teal tank. All signs of a good party.
"Yeah?" She sounded groggy and pissed. She HATED when I woke her up in the morning.
"Sorry to wake you, but you've got to see this."
She made her way slowly down the stairs. Her short light brown hair stuck straight up on one side. She squinted at me with a look that said, "This better be good."
I showed her the text.
"Wow. So what are you going to do?? You still have no way of getting a hold of him."
I was stumped. Of course, a smart person would have thought to run down to the bodega to buy a calling card YESTERDAY. But for some reason, that never crossed my mind. So I did the only thing I could think of. The thing I always do when I'm at a loss of what to do. I called Mom. She'll think of something.
I had already told her about Cayden yesterday, while I was getting ready for the party. She's one of my best friends. Some people think it's weird. A lot of times people say, "You told your mom about that??" When I lost my virginity at the age of 22 to my then boyfriend, I woke up the next day and texted my mom saying, "Your little girl is finally a woman." Yes, I was the LAST person to lose it in my family, and I have two younger siblings. Laugh it up.
Mom picked up on the second ring.
I quickly explained the situation and then waited for her words of wisdom.
"Why don't you call Meg? We added international calling to her phone while she was on her cruise. It should still work on her phone."
"Oh, my god. I love you."
I hung up and called Meg, my 21-year-old sister who lived down in Austin, Texas.
Please pick up the phone. Please pick up the phone.
"Hi guys, you've reached Meg. Leave me a message."
I wanted to scream.
"Meg, call me back. Like, NOW."
Then I sat there, staring at my phone. She's a bit oblivious at times, so I wouldn't be surprised if her phone were right next to her and she'd left it on silent.
I tried again.
Voicemail.
"Meg. Seriously. Call me back."
Then I sent her a text.
"CALL NOW."
I was hoping she'd see it and think I was being held at gunpoint and she was my one phone call. You know, freak her out a little bit so she'd call back.
I put my phone on the glass patio table and sat there staring at it. Then I checked to make sure it was on high volume plus vibrate and I had a full signal. I was sitting on the roof, so I decided to start cleaning up remnants of last night's party. It was mostly just plastic cups and empty beer cans. Finally, the phone rang.
"Dude, what do you want? I'm at work, hiding in the bathroom right now to call you back."
"Damn it. What time do you get off?"
"Four."
"OK. Call me back as soon as you get off work. Or if you get a break. Or if it's not too busy."
Meg was a bartender at a Cajun restaurant. Surely there couldn't be that many people boozing at noon. But that meant I couldn't plan on a lunch date with him, and he would surely think I was blowing him off. He wouldn't try again.
I thought it was a little strange that he hadn't given up already. Surely he was picking up all kinds of girls with that charming smile and beautiful accent. So why was he trying so hard to see me? Maybe he was having that same feeling I was having. The feeling that I just had to see him one more time before he left. I don't know why. I'm hell bent against long-distance relationships, and why am I even thinking about that after one kiss at a random bar? Sometimes my mind goes into overdrive.
I cleaned my room, did my laundry, talked Alexa's ear off about Cayden. She loves British guys, too. So she understood my urgency to see him again.
Finally 4:00 rolled around and I answered my phone before the first ring ended.
"Long story, but I need you to call this guy on three way so I can tell him I'm not a bitch."
"What did you get yourself into?" She laughed, assuming the worst.
"Flash over and dial this number and then flash back over."
I had copied the phone number down onto a Post-it note. I read her the number and then waited anxiously.
She flashed back over.
"Whitney, you there?"
"Yep!"
I heard the line start to ring and my stomach did flip flops. I couldn't wait to hear his voice.
The ringing stopped and a fast busy-signal filled my ear. Meg ended the call and came back to me.
"Um, let me try again."
Again, it rang and ended in a busy tone.
"Well, I don't know what to tell you. We can try again later?"
Bummed wasn't even the word. Defeated. Pissed. Those don't quite describe it either. I thanked her for trying, and then I sat there. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't be a big baby.
Wait, I'm an editor, I should know to factcheck these things. I compared the number on the Post it to the number saved in my phone, and sure enough, it was off by a number.
I called Meg back in a frenzy. I gave her the new number, and then I sat there, while she punched in the numbers.
She came back on the line, and I heard the ringing.
"Hello?"
That was it! His voice! Complete with that adorable British accent.
"Cayden! It's Whitney!"
"Whitney! I thought I'd never hear from you again!"
"My phone can't make international calls or texts. So give me your email address and we can text that way."
We exchanged email addresses and then said goodbye, because I knew the call wasn't cheap. As soon as he hung up, Meg said, "Oh my god! That accent is so hot! You better call me back and tell me how it goes!"
"I will. I promise. But don't wait up."
So as people were filing out, I kissed him goodbye and didn't ask him to stay. To be honest, I was still a little bummed Cayden hadn't shown up. It felt a little strange kissing Jon when Cayden's kiss was still fresh on my mind. I put a pillow over my head and prayed for sleep.
Then I heard my text-message alert and I shot up straight. Bad idea. My head swam. My temples throbbed. The good news is, my eyes opened all the way, although I may have lost a few lashes. I needed coffee and a shower, STAT. I looked at my phone and tried to guess who the text was from. Could it be from Cayden? Reaching out just one last time? Just my luck it was from one of last night's party goers asking if I found their shoe on my roof. How do you lose a shoe at a party, make it all the way back to your place via subway, only to find out later you made the trek one stiletto short?
I unlocked my phone and saw it. A new text from that same 15-digit phone number. My headache disappeared along with a strange tension in my stomach I didn't even know was there.
"Hi, Whitney. I'm pretty sure you're blowing me off at this point, but I thought I'd try just one more time. Care for a lunch date?"
AHHHHHH!
"Lea!" I yelled as I ran out of my room. That's when I realized I was still wearing last night's white shorts and teal tank. All signs of a good party.
"Yeah?" She sounded groggy and pissed. She HATED when I woke her up in the morning.
"Sorry to wake you, but you've got to see this."
She made her way slowly down the stairs. Her short light brown hair stuck straight up on one side. She squinted at me with a look that said, "This better be good."
I showed her the text.
"Wow. So what are you going to do?? You still have no way of getting a hold of him."
I was stumped. Of course, a smart person would have thought to run down to the bodega to buy a calling card YESTERDAY. But for some reason, that never crossed my mind. So I did the only thing I could think of. The thing I always do when I'm at a loss of what to do. I called Mom. She'll think of something.
I had already told her about Cayden yesterday, while I was getting ready for the party. She's one of my best friends. Some people think it's weird. A lot of times people say, "You told your mom about that??" When I lost my virginity at the age of 22 to my then boyfriend, I woke up the next day and texted my mom saying, "Your little girl is finally a woman." Yes, I was the LAST person to lose it in my family, and I have two younger siblings. Laugh it up.
Mom picked up on the second ring.
I quickly explained the situation and then waited for her words of wisdom.
"Why don't you call Meg? We added international calling to her phone while she was on her cruise. It should still work on her phone."
"Oh, my god. I love you."
I hung up and called Meg, my 21-year-old sister who lived down in Austin, Texas.
Please pick up the phone. Please pick up the phone.
"Hi guys, you've reached Meg. Leave me a message."
I wanted to scream.
"Meg, call me back. Like, NOW."
Then I sat there, staring at my phone. She's a bit oblivious at times, so I wouldn't be surprised if her phone were right next to her and she'd left it on silent.
I tried again.
Voicemail.
"Meg. Seriously. Call me back."
Then I sent her a text.
"CALL NOW."
I was hoping she'd see it and think I was being held at gunpoint and she was my one phone call. You know, freak her out a little bit so she'd call back.
I put my phone on the glass patio table and sat there staring at it. Then I checked to make sure it was on high volume plus vibrate and I had a full signal. I was sitting on the roof, so I decided to start cleaning up remnants of last night's party. It was mostly just plastic cups and empty beer cans. Finally, the phone rang.
"Dude, what do you want? I'm at work, hiding in the bathroom right now to call you back."
"Damn it. What time do you get off?"
"Four."
"OK. Call me back as soon as you get off work. Or if you get a break. Or if it's not too busy."
Meg was a bartender at a Cajun restaurant. Surely there couldn't be that many people boozing at noon. But that meant I couldn't plan on a lunch date with him, and he would surely think I was blowing him off. He wouldn't try again.
I thought it was a little strange that he hadn't given up already. Surely he was picking up all kinds of girls with that charming smile and beautiful accent. So why was he trying so hard to see me? Maybe he was having that same feeling I was having. The feeling that I just had to see him one more time before he left. I don't know why. I'm hell bent against long-distance relationships, and why am I even thinking about that after one kiss at a random bar? Sometimes my mind goes into overdrive.
I cleaned my room, did my laundry, talked Alexa's ear off about Cayden. She loves British guys, too. So she understood my urgency to see him again.
Finally 4:00 rolled around and I answered my phone before the first ring ended.
"Long story, but I need you to call this guy on three way so I can tell him I'm not a bitch."
"What did you get yourself into?" She laughed, assuming the worst.
"Flash over and dial this number and then flash back over."
I had copied the phone number down onto a Post-it note. I read her the number and then waited anxiously.
She flashed back over.
"Whitney, you there?"
"Yep!"
I heard the line start to ring and my stomach did flip flops. I couldn't wait to hear his voice.
The ringing stopped and a fast busy-signal filled my ear. Meg ended the call and came back to me.
"Um, let me try again."
Again, it rang and ended in a busy tone.
"Well, I don't know what to tell you. We can try again later?"
Bummed wasn't even the word. Defeated. Pissed. Those don't quite describe it either. I thanked her for trying, and then I sat there. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't be a big baby.
Wait, I'm an editor, I should know to factcheck these things. I compared the number on the Post it to the number saved in my phone, and sure enough, it was off by a number.
I called Meg back in a frenzy. I gave her the new number, and then I sat there, while she punched in the numbers.
She came back on the line, and I heard the ringing.
"Hello?"
That was it! His voice! Complete with that adorable British accent.
"Cayden! It's Whitney!"
"Whitney! I thought I'd never hear from you again!"
"My phone can't make international calls or texts. So give me your email address and we can text that way."
We exchanged email addresses and then said goodbye, because I knew the call wasn't cheap. As soon as he hung up, Meg said, "Oh my god! That accent is so hot! You better call me back and tell me how it goes!"
"I will. I promise. But don't wait up."
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
1. Once Upon a Time
I'll start from the beginning, and through these posts I'll bring you to real time.
July 3, 2009
I saw him standing nearby laughing about god only knows what over drinks with two friends. I only watched him for a minute or two, but I knew I wanted to know him. Something about the way he stood out from his friends—taller, darker. Something about the way his whole face smiled when he talked, not just his mouth, but his eyes, his cheeks, and even his ears seemed to smile. It made me wonder what had him so amused. I was only a few feet away from him, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. The music was too loud, the bar was too crowded.
“Hey, I’m going to go make that random guy buy me a drink," Lynn said.
I turned in time to watch her make her way to the bar and squeeze in next to a sketchy-looking 30-something who had that I’m-creepy-but-I’ll-buy-you-a-drink look about him.
“Yeah, I’m running low, too. I need to find a guy to buy me a drink.” This from Nicole, my innocent-looking college friend who just turned 21, new to the whole bar scene but catching on quickly.
Danielle just shrugged, her drink needing refilling as well. I didn’t so much care that my drink was almost empty. I wasn’t in the mood to drink, and truthfully I hadn’t even felt much like going out that night. But I was there, one drink down, may as well make the most of it.
I’ve been known to be the outgoing one, the one who will talk to anyone and leave the bar with a few new phone numbers in my contact list. Some of them I’ll call, some of them I won’t. Some become random hook ups, some become friends, others just fall by the wayside.
I wasn’t sure which category the tall smiling man would fall into, but I didn’t care. I just had to meet him.
But which approach should I take? Should I push through him and his friends to get to the bar, with a hand on his side to move him over while saying a polite “Excuse me,” as I passed, and keep my hand on his hip a little longer than necessary? Maybe he’d follow me to the bar and buy my next drink. It’s happened before. Or should I walk past him and graze his butt with my hand just so, so he wouldn’t know if it were on purpose or an accident. And then I’ll look back once I got to the bar and give him a half smile.
But then my elementary flirting skills got the best of me and I decided to play old-school style. I reached my leg behind Danielle, and gave him a blatant kick in the ass and then went back to my chat with my friends, pretending to be a part of their conversation about their next drink choice.
He looked over at us immediately, with a somewhat amused somewhat shocked look on his tanned face. I could feel his eyes on our group, trying to decide if someone had in fact kicked him on purpose or if he'd had one too many drinks and he had imagined the whole thing.
I let him wonder for a few seconds, and then I finally shifted my eyes to his. He gave me a confused look that I knew meant "Did you touch my butt?" I shrugged innocently and pointed at Danielle, who wasn't aware of the kick or the point, her only concern: how to get her glass refilled without relying on Lynn's method of flirting with the ickies. Before Mr. Tall, Tan, and Sexy could approach, Danielle and Nicole yanked me to the bar for refills.
I felt him come up behind me before he said anything. He didn't touch me, I just knew he was there. I felt his eyes on me. I turned, and, sure enough, standing at what must have been about 6'3" with brown hair, his brown eyes with a hint of green looked down at me. A curious smile played on his lips.
"It was her, I swear." I pointed at Danielle as her face clouded over with nothing but confusion.
"Is that so?" This from Mr. Tall, Tan, and Sexy.
Was that an accent I heard? No. Surely Mr. TT&S couldn't also be sporting an adorable accent. Those things didn't happen to me. That only happened in cheesy Julia Stiles movies.
"Well, I'm Cayden," he said as he held his hand out for me to shake. Surely that was an accent. What kind? I couldn't tell. Maybe his skin color was natural and he's hispanic. Or Greek. Or maybe he was just blessed with more melanin than most and an addiction to the outdoors. I couldn't be sure.
"Whitney," I say as met his hand with mine.
For the next hour or two, there was no bar. There were no friends. No ickies. No music. No nothing. Just me and Cayden. Just his British accent, my light-hearted laugh. His tanned hand resting on my tanned leg. His eyes, the exact same color as my own. His stories. My stories. His half Pakistani background, my half Cuban background.
Talk. Laugh. Touch. Repeat.
I forgot where I was all together until I heard "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" chanted all around me. It tore my eyes away from his. All of a sudden the room filled in. My friends were around us. His friends nearby.
Lynn seemed to be the ring leader in the chant, her camera was out and ready to capture the moment. How long had they been standing there? How long had we been talking? It must have taken me a full 15 seconds to bring myself back to reality. I looked at Danielle and Nicole, their faces eager. I looked at Lynn's camera lens, her finger hovering over the button.
I looked at Cayden.
We shrugged.
We kissed.
The camera flashed.
July 3, 2009
I saw him standing nearby laughing about god only knows what over drinks with two friends. I only watched him for a minute or two, but I knew I wanted to know him. Something about the way he stood out from his friends—taller, darker. Something about the way his whole face smiled when he talked, not just his mouth, but his eyes, his cheeks, and even his ears seemed to smile. It made me wonder what had him so amused. I was only a few feet away from him, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. The music was too loud, the bar was too crowded.
“Hey, I’m going to go make that random guy buy me a drink," Lynn said.
I turned in time to watch her make her way to the bar and squeeze in next to a sketchy-looking 30-something who had that I’m-creepy-but-I’ll-buy-you-a-drink look about him.
“Yeah, I’m running low, too. I need to find a guy to buy me a drink.” This from Nicole, my innocent-looking college friend who just turned 21, new to the whole bar scene but catching on quickly.
Danielle just shrugged, her drink needing refilling as well. I didn’t so much care that my drink was almost empty. I wasn’t in the mood to drink, and truthfully I hadn’t even felt much like going out that night. But I was there, one drink down, may as well make the most of it.
I’ve been known to be the outgoing one, the one who will talk to anyone and leave the bar with a few new phone numbers in my contact list. Some of them I’ll call, some of them I won’t. Some become random hook ups, some become friends, others just fall by the wayside.
I wasn’t sure which category the tall smiling man would fall into, but I didn’t care. I just had to meet him.
But which approach should I take? Should I push through him and his friends to get to the bar, with a hand on his side to move him over while saying a polite “Excuse me,” as I passed, and keep my hand on his hip a little longer than necessary? Maybe he’d follow me to the bar and buy my next drink. It’s happened before. Or should I walk past him and graze his butt with my hand just so, so he wouldn’t know if it were on purpose or an accident. And then I’ll look back once I got to the bar and give him a half smile.
But then my elementary flirting skills got the best of me and I decided to play old-school style. I reached my leg behind Danielle, and gave him a blatant kick in the ass and then went back to my chat with my friends, pretending to be a part of their conversation about their next drink choice.
He looked over at us immediately, with a somewhat amused somewhat shocked look on his tanned face. I could feel his eyes on our group, trying to decide if someone had in fact kicked him on purpose or if he'd had one too many drinks and he had imagined the whole thing.
I let him wonder for a few seconds, and then I finally shifted my eyes to his. He gave me a confused look that I knew meant "Did you touch my butt?" I shrugged innocently and pointed at Danielle, who wasn't aware of the kick or the point, her only concern: how to get her glass refilled without relying on Lynn's method of flirting with the ickies. Before Mr. Tall, Tan, and Sexy could approach, Danielle and Nicole yanked me to the bar for refills.
I felt him come up behind me before he said anything. He didn't touch me, I just knew he was there. I felt his eyes on me. I turned, and, sure enough, standing at what must have been about 6'3" with brown hair, his brown eyes with a hint of green looked down at me. A curious smile played on his lips.
"It was her, I swear." I pointed at Danielle as her face clouded over with nothing but confusion.
"Is that so?" This from Mr. Tall, Tan, and Sexy.
Was that an accent I heard? No. Surely Mr. TT&S couldn't also be sporting an adorable accent. Those things didn't happen to me. That only happened in cheesy Julia Stiles movies.
"Well, I'm Cayden," he said as he held his hand out for me to shake. Surely that was an accent. What kind? I couldn't tell. Maybe his skin color was natural and he's hispanic. Or Greek. Or maybe he was just blessed with more melanin than most and an addiction to the outdoors. I couldn't be sure.
"Whitney," I say as met his hand with mine.
For the next hour or two, there was no bar. There were no friends. No ickies. No music. No nothing. Just me and Cayden. Just his British accent, my light-hearted laugh. His tanned hand resting on my tanned leg. His eyes, the exact same color as my own. His stories. My stories. His half Pakistani background, my half Cuban background.
Talk. Laugh. Touch. Repeat.
I forgot where I was all together until I heard "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" chanted all around me. It tore my eyes away from his. All of a sudden the room filled in. My friends were around us. His friends nearby.
Lynn seemed to be the ring leader in the chant, her camera was out and ready to capture the moment. How long had they been standing there? How long had we been talking? It must have taken me a full 15 seconds to bring myself back to reality. I looked at Danielle and Nicole, their faces eager. I looked at Lynn's camera lens, her finger hovering over the button.
I looked at Cayden.
We shrugged.
We kissed.
The camera flashed.
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