Something About You

Some electronic pop song from the eighties was coming through the sound system of the local bar where I decided to have a Friday-night drink. Ah, I know this one, I thought. It was “Bizarre Love Triangle” by New Order. I closed my eyes for a moment as I took another sip of my beer and tried to remember the lyrics.

“Oh, great song.”

I glanced at the fine suit next to me, nodding my head to acknowledge that I’d heard his comment.

“Yeah,” I agreed quietly.

“The eighties. Great music, right?” he asked, shifting his bar stool in my direction slightly.

“I couldn’t disagree more, but this song is great,” I said.

“I’ll forgive you,” he laughed, clinking his beer bottle against mine.

“No need. I wasn’t seeking your approval when it comes to my taste in music,” I teased playfully.

“Very well.”

I didn’t bother to look in his direction as we sat in silence for the next few moments. It wasn’t until the chorus came in and he started singing along quietly that I peered over at him, biting my lip and laughing to myself. His eyes locked on mine, and despite the blatantly obvious fact that I was laughing at him, he continued to sing.

“‘I’m not sure what this could mean. I don’t think you’re what you seem.’ Sorry, the words escaped me there for a minute,” he said, interrupting his singing with a gentle hum instead.

“I’ll forgive you,” I said plainly.

“Luckily, I wasn’t seeking your approval,” he replied with a smirk.

I nodded my head in response, not saying another word. Before I sucked down the last of my beer, the bartender brought me another. I came to this place often enough that I knew him by name, and he typically remembered that I would always lift a few fingers and give him a slight nod if I wanted another. I anticipated that tonight would be like any other night, but it wasn’t. I hadn’t lifted a few fingers, nor had I given him a slight nod. I hadn’t done anything. This beer arrived on its own. A surprise beer. I peered around the nearly empty bar with curiosity, trying to figure out where this mystery beer may have come from.

“Dave,” I said, clearing my throat as I spoke up and lifted the bottle in his direction. I caught his eye, but he was busy taking an order from a newcomer at the end of the bar.

“It’s from me,” said the suit. “Thanks for your forgiveness. I know that must have been hard for you.”

I chuckled, slightly amused by the gesture.

“Okay. Thank you,” I said, giving him another nod and proceeding to take a sip of it.

“What is it about Stella?” he asked.

“What is it about—what even is that? Some sort of IPA?” I questioned, narrowing my eyes at his beer. He leaned closer to me, and for the first time, I could smell him: this warm, woodsy scent. I ignored the fact that I liked it.

“Dave gives me a discount when I drink the shitty IPAs that no one else likes,” he said, lowering his voice.

“How long have you known Dave?” I questioned, preparing to interrogate him. After all, this was a local bar, and he didn’t appear to be a local.

“A few years. We went to university together. You?” he asked, somehow having an understanding that I knew Dave as well.

“As long as I’ve been able to drink legally. This is ‘the’ bar,” I said, gesturing to the scenery around us. “And how long have you been handing out free drinks to people who put up with your singing? Just curious.”

“Oh, that’s just a recent thing. See, I noticed you when I walked in. I watched you give Dave your signal,” he recalled, imitating the slight wave I’d molded my hand into whenever I requested another drink, “and he brought you another. So, when you weren’t looking, I did the same thing.” He made the gesture once more, showing me that he had memorized it at this point.

“And what does any of that have to do with your singing?” I asked curiously, trying to lead him toward the fact that I didn’t like his singing. But really, I did.

“It doesn’t. Slight misunderstanding; my apologies. I actually bought you a drink because you’re doing this bar a favor,” he said confidently.

“A favor?”

“Trust me, I’m not the only one in here who noticed that you’re beautiful,” he said, lowering his voice again. I noticed that each time he lowered his voice that way, it became enticing and warm.

“Thank you, but I feel like I should preface the rest of this conversation with the hard facts,” I chuckled, turning my bar stool toward him just enough that I could look him up and down. He was handsome, no doubt. His dark hair was styled in a neat cut, his face covered with matching rugged stubble that had been groomed perfectly to draw a sharp outline on his structured jaw. His eyes were equally as dark, and they searched mine, but I was preoccupied with examining his suit: a deep navy two-piece with a white button-down shirt underneath. “I don’t date lawyers.”

“I’m not a lawyer,” he said, giving me a sly grin.

“Okay. Well, I don’t date doctors—”

“—Not a doctor,” he said quickly, “but I am curious where you got the idea.”

“With a tailored suit like that, I figured you were one of the two,” I admitted.

“Guess again,” he urged.

“I’m out,” I shrugged, taking a swig of my beer. “Investment banker, maybe?”

“Well, I do deal with money, so there is that,” he laughed.

“Financial advisor,” I guessed, ready to give up.

“No, but I’m happy to advise you if it’s advice that you’re seeking,” he said cunningly.

“Sure. What’s your advice?” I asked, playing along.

“Let me take you out sometime.”

“Sometime? Maybe,” I said slowly, contemplating whether I should entertain such a thing.

“Tonight,” he added.

“We are out tonight. We’re already out—like right now,” I laughed.

“Then let’s stay out tonight, and maybe tomorrow we could stay in?” he suggested. His dark eyes were ensnaring me in a difficult, risky situation where I questioned whether I’d be able to say no. When he shifted in his seat, his scent passed through the air that surrounded us once more, and it drew me in even further.

“Yes to the former; maybe to the latter,” I said in a reserved tone.

“I don’t bite,” he advised, glancing over at me and pursing his lips. He began biting the corner of his bottom lip before releasing it.

“I somehow doubt that.”

“So, do you have a name?” he asked.

“Not at all. Do you?” I teased.

“Weston, but most people call me Wes,” he said, extending his hand to me and holding it in the air, likely waiting for me to accept it. I peered down at it innocently, trying to be sneaky about examining his hand and the way his wrist looked as the sleeve of his jacket rode up slightly.

“Jane, but most people call me Jane,” I said with a smirk, finally accepting his hand. He shook my hand with a firm grasp, and I confirmed with myself internally that he must be some sort of businessman.

“Jane? Really?” he asked, raising his brow at me.

“I mean, I wouldn’t lie,” I chuckled.

“It’s just that that’s such an ordinary name.”

“Oh, wow. Thank you,” I laughed dryly.

“That’s not what I meant. Sorry. You’re just—you don’t look the way I pictured a Jane to look.”

“Pretend that I don’t know what that means,” I said hesitantly.

“You’re more extraordinary… a little,” he said, shaking his head at me.

“A little?”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed.

When the song changed, “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” by Deep Blue Something started playing, and I knew that he could see my face light up instantly.

“’You’ll say the world has come between us. Our lives have come between us,’” I sang quietly.

“Really?” he asked depreciatively, giving me a sly grin while he bit his lip at me once more. I nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah, this is more my speed.”

“So, the nineties?” he questioned dismissively.

“Absolutely. Hands down,” I said with a slight shrug and a gesture of my hands.

“I’m not going to argue with your taste, but I do have some questions. What is it about this particular song?” he asked curiously.

“It’s genius. See, they’re on the verge of splitting up, but then they remember that they both saw this movie and they both liked it—”

“—No, as I recall, they both kind of liked it,” he reminded me gently. As he did, his hand grazed my wrist. I looked over at him carefully, trying to avoid showing him the hungry, desperate look in my eyes. But the truth was that I kind of liked it—that subtle touch.

“So, you do know the song pretty well,” I pointed out.

“I do,” he chuckled.

“Well, that’s one thing we’ve got.”

“Please, I beg of you, stop it for the love of God,” he laughed.

“Oh, I could go all night,” I teased.

“I’d like to see that,” he said, his tone becoming a little more expressive. His dark eyes flashed at me in the dim lighting of the bar. Embarrassed, I bit my lip and began scratching at the label of my beer bottle. Say something, I encouraged myself. Maybe change the subject. Or maybe don’t.

“How do you know that we’ll even get that far? It seems like we may have some pretty serious disagreements when it comes to… important matters,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Important matters? You mean musical hits of bygone decades?” he asked, an innocent and sincere laugh rumbling in his chest.

“Exactly. Important matters,” I confirmed.

“I can think of other things that are more important, things that might weigh pretty heavily in determining how far we make it.”

“Oh, like what?” I asked.

“I’d like to see—” he said, pausing before shaking his head, “never mind.”

“No, come on. Tell me,” I encouraged him.

“I’d like to see,” he continued, placing his fingertips under my chin to force my gaze, “the way your eyes look in the dark.”

The music might as well have been turned off completely, and the few rowdy patrons of the bar might as well have been asleep. My surroundings disappeared rapidly, leaving me in this empty but comforting space where all I was doing was holding a bottle of Stella in my hand and looking deeply into his eyes. I blinked a few times suddenly, shaking my head and ignoring the fact that I liked the idea of disappearing with him, of staying in that little escape that I’d just created. I wasn’t trying to turn harmless, flirty banter into something so serious, but I liked the idea of it. I liked the notion of having him all to myself as odd as that may have been.

“Jane?” he said quietly, still searching my eyes.

“It’s dark outside,” I muttered under my breath.

“And your point? Do you have to be home before bedtime?” he teased.

“No, I just thought—” I stumbled hesitantly over my words, and as he took the last sip of his beer, his hand slid across my wrist and found a convenient resting place on top of mine. “You said you wanted to see them in the dark.”

My words were carrying me, and I was somehow fine with it. So, let it be, I thought. Just let this be. Let him take me outside. He nodded back at me, his neutral expression melting into a perfect, clever grin. My face grew hot with embarrassment, and I realized that maybe I was the one who was being a little too forward now. But I could tell that he didn’t mind when he tipped his gaze in the direction of my beer bottle.

“Finish that, honey,” he ordered.

And now I was really giving him that look. I tilted my head to the side, peering at his dark eyes and the sharp line of stubble on his face as the shadows cast by the dim lighting moved across it. When I finally tore my eyes away from him, I shifted my attention to my beer, drinking it quietly while I let my mind wander in the silence that followed. He was so kind, so simple, so sweet. But suddenly, he had demanded that I do something, and while it was such an innocent request, I liked it. I wanted to hear more of it. I hoped that I would.

Dave stopped by, interrupting my wandering thoughts.

“Ready to close out?” he asked.

We agreed simultaneously, and as I reached for the zipper of my crossbody, Wes clutched my wrist tightly. Our eyes met once more, and I let a quiet, nervous laugh fall from my lips when he quickly released me. I swallowed hesitantly, watching him pull cash from the inside pocket of his jacket. He thumbed through it, and I assumed that he was counting in silence. When he was finished, he folded the bills and slid them across the bar to Dave.

“Let me know when you get home safely,” Dave said to me, eyeing my face carefully and waiting for my confirmation.

“Okay,” I said, furrowing my brows at him. Odd. He’s never said that to me. Regardless, I slid the strap of my bag around my body and got up from the barstool, following Wes to the front door.

It was a short walk to my townhouse, and the cobblestone streets of this historic town were quiet this late at night. The streetlights provided dim but sufficient lighting on the sidewalk outside. Before our walk could even begin, he pulled a cigarette case and a lighter from the inner pocket of his jacket, and he leaned up against the brick wall next to the bar.

“Do you mind?” he asked.

“Not entirely, no,” I said.

“Not entirely?” he laughed.

I leaned against the brick wall next to him, watching him light one up. But the entire time the lighter was flickering in front of his cigarette, he was watching my eyes as the flame danced in them. I sighed quietly, trying to be discreet about looking at him. I watched the way he pressed the cigarette to his lips, the way his fingertips looked around it as he held it, the way his chest moved as he inhaled, the way his lips released as he exhaled a trail of smoke into the night air.

“It’s a bad habit,” I finally commented.

“I know. I don’t do it often,” he said.

“Really? Most people are, you know, addicted,” I said skeptically.

“Not me.”

I observed him more closely this time. The glow of the streetlight provided ample illumination for me to examine him: the way his fingers moved when he tapped ash into the trashcan next to him, the way his body looked as he relaxed with each drag, the way his eyes closed as he leaned his head back against the brick wall for a moment.

“Does it bother you?” he asked curiously, and it was clear to me that he noticed my staring.

“Normally, yes, but right now, no,” I answered honestly.

“And why is that, Jane?”

My body stiffened as my name left his lips: not just my name, but a soft, delicate cloud of smoke along with it. His teeth pulled at the corner of his bottom lip repeatedly, just as they had earlier in the night. If I was being honest with myself, I’d never seen anything so sexy.

“It looks good on you,” I admitted nervously.

“Don’t be anxious, Janey,” he said coolly, shifting his body on the wall in a way such that only his shoulder was leaning against it now. As he turned to me, he took my chin in his free hand, lifting my gaze to meet his. “I’m not going to give you some line about how you’d look good on me as well.”

“It’d be a travesty if you did,” I breathed, lying to myself and to him.

“I’m not like that.”

“I can tell,” I lied. He put out his cigarette, tossing it in the trash.

“You can?” he asked, returning his hand to my chin. This time, he actually applied pressure around it, his thumb and index finger clutching it tightly while he held my face still.

“Mmhmm,” I uttered, not even parting my lips to speak. I could only look into his eyes. I could only anticipate what he’d do next.

“It’s not dark enough,” he stated cleverly, narrowing his gaze at me. Gentle lines formed at the corners of his eyes when he did that. “I’d like to see them in total darkness. Maybe you could show me tonight?”

“I’m not like that,” I teased, trying to mirror his cool tone.