Dateline: "I pretend to have just noticed that he's here…"
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12:00 a.m. – I'm at the bar. He's at the bar. I haven't seen him in five months — mostly due to the fact that I haven't been in the country, but this is immaterial. I can't be sure who saw whom first, but I'm the first to pretend I didn't see the other. I let him watch me for awhile.
12:10 – I take a shot.
12:15 – I can't ignore his gaze any longer. I pretend to have just noticed that he's here, and offer a reasonable hug.
12:17 – We chitchat for approximately two minutes. I make a sweeping gesture to the vicinity that is the entire bar and tell him it is absolutely imperative that I find my friends over yonder. Then I book it out of the conversation real fast, because the night is still early, I'm not drunk enough, and I literally do not care what this boy has done with himself in the five months since he was last inside me.
12:50 – I take a shot.
12:52 – I take a shot.
1:50 – "Escape" by Enrique Iglesias, off of the incendiary album of the same name, comes on. I find his early work to be exceptional, particularly when compared to his latest studio album, mostly because of my aversion to American rapper/songwriter Pitbull. I decide it's important that everyone at the bar know this.
2:30 – I take a shot.
2:33 – "Who is that leering at you across the bar?" a girlfriend asks. "That kid… you know, that kid you used to see… you know." She doesn't know.
2:34 – "What's his name?" "Uhh, Dave? Brian, maybe. John? No, it's Dave. It's actually Dave." I'm joking with her. Of course I know his name. I just don't care. I take a shot.
4:00 – My phone buzzes. "Wanna hang out?" the text message reads. "Yeah, that works," I respond.
4:25 – I walk into his apartment to the mood-setting, blue glow from the PGA Tour on his TV.
4:26 – "Have you been following this?" he asks. "Oh, yeah," I respond. "Such a cowardly move by LeBron to bail on the Dolphins like that." He looks at me quizzically but decides against arguing this further. Obviously he's not a golfer.
4:27 – I request the sporting event be turned off. I do not find its presence particularly arousing.
4:29 – We kiss.
4:40 – I'm bored. We move on, or try to at least, but he's having some trouble. I giggle outwardly at his (and my) misfortune, which, admittedly does not help the issue. I reflect internally on how there is never a good way to react when this situation arises. Or doesn't. (See what I did there?)
4:50 – "Should we turn the golf back on?"