He reached for me and I swallowed hard as I felt his nails dig into my wrist. They’d been drinking all day and I’d just gotten off work. Being sober in a bar at midnight is no laughing matter and it was a full house of what looked to be, inebriated teenagers.
I needed booze on board, post haste.
The dirty Bombay Sapphire martini I held, felt like a liquid security blanket even though I appeared to be the only person in the room with an actual glass. His hand on my wrist made my heart race, and the icy cold gin wasn’t helping fast enough.
Something had shifted with him and I could feel it hanging in the space between us. I set my glass down and he pulled me out the door and across the street to another bar.
We’re standing at the end of the bar, halfheartedly trying to order a drink, when a man interrupts us.
M- Hey, Hi- excuse me! I can see that you’re having some sort of romantic and special evening, it’s your anniversary, isn’t it! Can I squeeze in and order?
I blink at Perfection. Completely speechless and thankful for the dark, because I’m positive I’m ruby red.
P- It is. What’s it been, wifey- 3 years? Oh no, 3 years and 10 months.
I’m amazed my shaking knees are holding me. The butterflies in my stomach are making me a little nauseous and I feel feverish. I wish I had a drink in my hand so that I could do something other than look stunned. I finally choke out an awkward response.
J- Sure, hubby. Wow, you’re a daddy too.
I’m thankful for my sobriety, and manners…because they were the only things keeping me from propositioning him right then and there. The strange guy just wants to buy a drink, but now that he’s celebrating our anniversary with us, he insists on buying us a shot. I am still so stunned by what’s going on with Perfection that I cannot make up my mind about what I want.
J- Not Fireball or Rumple minze. Anything but those. You decide, Darling.
P- I insist, wife. What do you really want? Tell me what sounds good?
The answers that come to mind would leave him equally as speechless, but his hand is drifting lower on my ass and I can hardly breathe, let alone speak. The stranger is looking at me, expectantly.
J- Washington apples. Thank you.
I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone. Is this real life? Am I hallucinating? Am I really wasted and I just feel far too sober?
We take the shot and the stranger wishes us well on our marriage and leaves. Perfection leans in.
P- Do you know how many times I’ve had dreams about you?
J- Are you feeling alright? I think you’ve been overserved.
Ever have one of those moments where you’re a million miles away from the noisy room you’re standing in? I could feel his heart racing and hear him struggling like me.
This is real life.
This is Perfection.
This is what it’s supposed to feel like. In and of itself, it is a huge relief that I can recognize that. He doesn’t live here, the timing is wrong and he has a few loose ends I don’t want to get tangled in…
But…. it is fanfuckingtastic to have a Perfect evening, and remember what it feels like to be wildly attracted to not just anyone, but someone really and truly special.
Maybe I’m not a catlady, after all.