My palms were sweaty and my heart raced. I’d done this a million times but somehow, this seemed different. I felt like a pussy, a flat-out pussy, for not strolling over and asking for her number. What kept me from doing it; I dunno. I just couldn’t coordinate the maneuver.
Or maybe it was all in my thick head.
I’d known her since grade school when I pulled her pigtails and slung snowballs at her. Sure, I liked her then and in true guy manner, I showed her as much contempt as I could. Just to keep her guessing. And guessing she did. She guessed that I was a jackass and I suppose she guessed right.
But tonight I wanted to prove her wrong.
I tried to steel my unsteady nerves with a long pull of my beer. It didn’t work. I tried reassuring myself that I was handsome, that she was lucky I was even giving her a second chance after she blew me off for the high school prom. Truth was, I would have bargained with the devil herself if I thought it would give me half a chance with her.
I put my beer down, straightened the front of my t-shirt and began the long walk to where she sat at the other end of the bar. Friends stopped me three times before I even got within earshot of her. Once or twice I swore she looked my way, a faint smile washing across her full lips, eyelashes fluttering in time with the butterflies in my stomach.
Finally I reached her. I needed a smooth opening line or it would be game over. I grabbed the back of her stool, spun her around…
“What took you so long?” She replied, sly grin fixed square on her face.