I Love My Hope (Nicole's Erotic Romance) (6 page)

Sexy
Bartender: I just woke up. I work until 4, remember? ;)

(Not sure
I like that.) Me: Gotcha. What was the dream about?

Sexy
Bartender: You were naked with me under a waterfall in the Caribbean.

(Now that
I like) Me: Were you enjoying yourself?

Sexy
Bartender: Not as much as you were.

Me: Oh
my…

Sexy
Bartender: Yeah. I hope this isn’t coming on too strong. I can’t help my
subconscious.

Me:
Lol
. No, you can’t. And no…you’re not.

Sexy
Bartender: Good, because I can’t get you out of my mind.

Me: Me,
or my body?

Sexy
Bartender: Both. Thank God they’re connected.

Me:
Lol

(Silence
after that. I hate it when they disappear mid-conversation.)

On
Thursday Afternoon

Sexy
Bartender: Hey.

Me: Hey.

Sexy
Bartender: What’re you doing?

(Let’s
see what he does with this)

Me:
Touching myself.

Sexy
Bartender: Really?

Me: No.
Okay, yes.

Sexy Bartender: Me too.

Me: Are
you…?

Sexy
Bartender: I am now.

Me:
Describe it to me.

Sexy
Bartender: I’m well endowed.
And then some.

(
Yeesh
)

Me: And
then some?

Sexy Bartender:
Reaching the moon, it’s so big.

Me:
Funny.

Sexy
Bartender: Who says I’m being funny. I just poked the man on the moon in the
eye.

(He’s
killing my vibe.)

Me: Okay.
Stop.

Sexy
Bartender: You describe what you’re doing then…

(Get
ready buddy)

Me: Okay.
I’m sitting with my back to the wall in front of a mirror. My legs are spread…
and other things.

Sexy
Bartender: Holy shit. Go on.

(I doubt
he can handle this, but let’s see)

Me: I’m
wet. I’m dripping down my fingers as I touch the sweet warm slippery place
between my legs.

Sexy
Bartender: Fuck Friday. I want to come over now.

Me:
 
Can’t wait. Why don’t you call me, so
you can talk me through this?

Sexy
Bartender: Can’t.

Me: Why
not?

Sexy
Bartender: I’m at Happy Hour with my buddies. Sorry.

(Which means
he’s probably showing them my text. Awesome.)

Me:
You’re fucking kidding me.

Sexy
Bartender: I wish I
was
.

Sexy
Bartender: You still there?

Sexy
Bartender: Sorry.

Sexy
Bartender: Still on for Friday? I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to stop reading
about you touching yourself. It was so hot. Can you blame me?

Sexy
Bartender: Hello?

Sexy
Bartender: I didn’t show my friends. Or tell them. I promise.

(Magic
words)

Me: Okay.
Friday’s on.
But you are on thin ice.

Sexy
Bartender: Understood.

(Silence
from both our ends)

Now it’s
Friday night. I’m sitting across from him at Scarpetta, a nice Italian
restaurant, but I’m not feeling it. I’m not feeling the straight, hard lines of
this restaurant, nor am I feeling the less-than-manly vibe from him now that
his beard has been shaved off without warning. He had been growing it for a
short film he booked where he’s bold and courageous. So that husky masculine
man I met last week?
An act by an actor.

But the
food
is
delicious. I got the
pancetta-wrapped pork chop and it is melting in my mouth.
The
words with which to speak to this guy?
Not so much.

“So…
you’re a painter,” he says, nodding. I can’t help but stare at the pinky finger
he has shooting out from the wine glass he’s holding.

“I am.
Yes.”

“What’s
your day job?” He laughs at his own joke.

I smile
and take another bite of chop.

I point
to my mouth to indicate I’m chewing, while I pick up my glass and sip the red.
I’m taking my time to answer since I hate this question more than any other.
Why is it assumed that an artist can’t make a living in art? Some of the
richest people in the world are artists, musicians, filmmakers, actors, etc. Like
him! I mean, really. It’s nonsensical.

 
I take a breath, look around, and then
lock on him. “Why would assume that my paintings aren’t covering the bills?” It
sounds like an accusation when I hear it.

He hears
it, too. And the war is on.

“You
don’t have to get touchy about it,” he says behind wounded masculinity, which
grates on my nerves, too. This isn’t a male-female thing. It’s a person-person
one. But men never see it like that. You argue with them and they instantly
think their dicks are shrinking. Says more about them than us, in my mind.
And not all men.
Just guys like him who
have
no idea who they really are yet.
Children in hairy men-suits.
So not hot.

I pick up
my knife to slice off another distraction. “I’m not touchy. I was asking you.”

“It
didn’t sound like a question,” he says.

I mumble,
“Well, I’ll be more careful next time,” and pop a chunk of meat into my mouth.
This is the only meat that will be going into my mouth tonight. Sigh.

He starts
sucking on his teeth and the sound is gross and impossible to ignore. “And I
have to bartend to pay the bills. But hey, you’re obviously better than I am.”
The sarcasm whips my ears.

“Obviously.”

“This
isn’t working out, is it?” he says, annoyed.

“Look…um…”
I was about to say his name, but I have no idea what it is! Which is hilarious
to me all of a sudden. The realization is so amusing that I start giggling
uncontrollably. I cover my mouth with my hand to try to stop myself because
laughing in somebody’s face is going too far, even for me.

“What’s
funny?” he asks, growing progressively angrier. I don’t blame him!

“Nothing.”
I squeak from behind fingers. A full-blown, gut-busting laugh bursts out of me.
I clasp my other hand over the first, my eyes wide in embarrassment. But it’s
too late – like when you’re a kid in church knowing you’re not supposed
to laugh… and knowing that makes you laugh more.

“What is
so funny!” he demands as tears come to my eyes from the giggles.

People
are looking at us.

“I’m
sorry. It’s just uh…” I point to my head and make a ‘crazy’ circle, grabbing my
napkin to dab at my eyes. “I just remembered something funny. I’m so sorry. I
have to go to the bathroom.” I jump up, grab my bag and take off as he stares
at me

In
bathroom mirror, I giggle to myself and wipe mascara streaks away. I don’t want
to go back out there. I feel like I’m an asshole, and so is he. Pulling out my
phone to text Jess and Amber about the debacle this date has turned out to be,
I see that it’s been blowing up for the past twenty minutes with texts and
calls from Josh! Oh no… something happened to Amber. I call him back
immediately without reading them.
My heart races.
I’ve
gotten these kinds of calls before. Please let her be
alright
!

As soon
as he says, hello, I burst out with, “Josh
?!
What’s
going on
?!
Is Amber okay?”

He sounds
lost and confused. “She left me. She threw an apple at me and then she left.”

“Wait.
So, she’s not in the hospital? Jeez, you scared me.”

“She’s in
the hospital?”

“What?
No! I thought from all the… never mind.”

“Didn’t you
read my texts? Listen to my messages?”

“No Josh.
Sorry. I just saw how many there were and I freaked. Okay. Start over. She did
what?”

“She
threw an apple at me, started screaming out of nowhere, then she ran out the
door and left! Her phone is off and I don’t know how to find her. Nicole,
please come. Please come help me. I can’t live without her.”

My mind
is processing quickly everything he says. Amber
was
in trouble.

“Josh,
let me call you back.” I hang up. I need more information, but he’s right. Her
phone is off and my call goes straight to voicemail.

“Amber,
it’s me. Josh just called. You okay? Do you need me to come get you somewhere?
Do you want to stay at my place? You’ll have to sleep in bed with me, since I
don’t have a couch anymore…but that’s okay. Call me.”

I dial
Jess next. It rings and rings, and goes to voicemail. “Jess, Amber’s in
trouble. She left Josh. Where are you? Oh, you’re probably out with Chris.
Okay, call as soon as you get this.”

I call
back Josh and say, before he has a chance to say hello, “I’m coming over.”

“Oh thank
God!”

“Stay
right there.” I hang up and swing open the door to the bathroom, speeding out
like I’m a hit woman who’s pulling out her gun, running for the target
who
’s right outside. As I see my date, I stop fast at the
table and say, “I have to run. There’s been an emergency.”

“Wait!
What? Do you know how expensive this bottle of wine is, and this food? You’re
just going to leave after that fucked-up laughing fit?”

I pick up
to bottle of wine, look around and walk it over to a table with a happy young
couple
who
’s definitely on a better date than we are.
“See that guy?” I ask them, pointing to Not-So-Sexy Bartender. They nod. “He
wanted you to have this.”

“Thank
you!” they call out to him. He forces a smile, but he is pissed.

I speed
back to him. “There. You just did a good deed. That should feel good. I’m about
to do the same, so… bye.”

As soon
as I’m outside, a cab drives by. “TAXI!!!”

It
screeches to a stop and reverses. Peering up at me from the driver’s seat is
the same cabbie who helped with my paint supplies. “Hello again!” he calls
through the open window.

I jump
in. “Well, hello to you, too! You’ve come to my rescue!”

He grins.
“I have a feeling you’re not the type of girl to need rescuing.”

“You’d be
surprised.” We drive off so fast my head swings back.

“What am
I rescuing you from?” he asks, looking at me from the rearview.

I grin
and answer, “The wrong guy!”

Minutes Later

Josh is
waiting outside when we drive up, looking scared and guilty. I climb out of the
car and give him a hug as my cabbie waits.

“It’s all
me. It’s all me, Nicole. It’s all my fault.”

“Josh!
You’ve been a jerk – I won’t lie to you, but it’s never just one person.
Okay? I don’t know what’s going on, but Amber loves you. Okay?” He nods and I
turn to my cabbie friend. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see how much I…” I’m interrupted
by a text alert and Josh practically jumps me.

“IS IT
AMBER
?!
”

“Josh!
Yeesh
. Calm down.” I call out to my cabbie, “Hold on,
please. I’m so sorry.”
 

He
motions
don’t worry.

The text
is indeed from the best friend in question. She’s at the bar where we met
Chris, and when I read, “Need help,” my stomach twists. Maybe she doesn’t want
to see Josh. Oh God. What do I do?

I look up
to see Josh on his phone, calling her. I grab at it and wrestle it from his
hands. “Josh put the phone down! You’ll scare her off!”

He stops
fighting me and says helplessly, “But she had her phone back on! I had to try.”

Oh man. I
want to
bear-hug
the poor guy right now, he’s so pathetically
cute. This might be the biggest mistake, but I’m taking him with me, come what
may. I turn to my cabbie. “Can you drive us over to the East Village?

His sweet
little head bobs. “Let’s go!”

Josh
climbs in one side while I jump in the other. He mumbles, brain spinning and
eyes hazy with worry, “She’s at Jess’s isn’t she? That’s why Jess didn’t
respond.”

“No.” I
shut the door. “She’s at a bar. I couldn’t get a hold of Jess, either.”

“Oh.”

I give
his hand a little pat and then turn to look out the window, because I am pretty
sure I’m breaking the best friends code and I can’t look at him anymore. But something
is telling me to bring him, and something is telling me to go to her, too. How
can I not listen to these instincts? Angels, I hope you’re not leading me to a
big fat mess!