Laila - Day #2 - Exposition & Flow - Wine and Cheese - BEFORE

The DJ spins, Pump up the Jam. Amy lets out a scream. “Ah! Let’s go dance!” She slams her drink onto the bar table, loops her arm around my elbow and yanks me forward. In one swoop I down my drink, slide it onto the table and snatch my purse from the chair back. We wiggle our way to a spot on the sardine packed dance floor and blend into the crowd of clubbers under the flashing lights and pounding beat. I close my eyes, sway my body and let the song take me away. Music. The master escape. Every time.

“Oh my god!” Amy screams into my ear.

“Amy!” I shake my head and pull it away from hers. “My ear.”

“He’s so hot.” She yells again. I roll my eyes.

“Do you remember him? From school?”

“Who?”

“Grant!”

“The pot smoker?”

“Oh god. He’s coming over.”

They exchange words then Amy turns to me, slaps my shoulder and yells, “Come on, his friend Blake is here too. They have a table. And they are both hot.” I shake my head and want to say, we had a table too, but instead I make a mental note of their location and walk to the bar.

My elbows drop down and I lean to the bartender. “White Russian.” He nods and gets to work. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder. I spin around there he is. Tall, thick dark hair and those Richard Gere slanty eyes. Ok, Amy’s right, he’s hot. He smiles, leans down toward me ear, “I remember you from high school.” He says tilting his chin towards me. The smell of cologne snakes up my nose. Ok, he’s good looking and he smells good. We start to talk. Highschool. Where our lockers were and how the school allowed a smoke pit. What we like and dislike about our jobs. He’s in sales and customer service so my experience at the animal hospital with illness, body fluids and euthanasia makes him pull his head back and paint a, yikes, kind of look on his face. I hold back on more the details. No need to tell this guy how many times a day I glove up and clean up after the animals.

After we knock back a few tequila shots and share a few songs on the dance floor, pop, the lights flick on and the bar begins to empty. Grant reaches down and laces his fingers into mine. I can feel the connection. The spark in our palms. And when he says, “Can I take you on my favorite night drive?” I nod in agreement and out the door we go. In the parking lot I scan for Amy. She’s at Blakes car and gives me a wave of, go. Go on. We exchange a smile, and both climb into a hot guy’s car.

On a warm summer night with the windows down we speed along a narrow two-lane road. With only the car headlights, the wind streaks though my long hair as we drive up and down and around. Past hidden driveways and ignored stop signs. In his low sportscar he shifts the gears with ease and authority. I check my seatbelt to make sure I’m buckled in and grip the handle on the door. Grant turns the music up and keeps driving until we reach the end of the isolated road. My heart races. Eyes wide as I scan the area. No houses. No people. Just a dead-end parking lot. Oh, this wasn’t very smart of me. But just as my fear takes over Grant says, “Did you like that?”

“Not. Really. You drive. Fast.”

“Only cause I know that road. And it’s so late.”

“Oh.” I nod.

We stay for a moment and then I say, “It’s late. I’m pretty tired.” He turns the engine on and spins the car around. On the way back he drives slower. Not much. But a bit. And when he asks me if I want to spend the night I freeze. Yes, I want to. No, I don’t want to give him that idea. And before I can say anything he says, “No not like that. I just love your company. I wouldn’t disrespect you like that. I’d rather wait for. You know?”

The next day he calls at nine am sharp. “Wanna go boating today?” And off we go. Out on the sea in his 17-foot speed boat we spend the day bobbing around in the waves talking about our pasts. His last heartbreak. How she was a virgin when they met. Then how she broke off their engagement and moved to another country. He was devastated. I share my history of one long term relationship and a few other guys along the way. We exchange a smile when we discover both of our parents are still married.

After our first date, his call comes every day thereafter. I’ve never had so much attention. Every weekend is something more romantic then the last. Sometimes small jesters like driving to a party, seeing it’s dead, then taking me to a dead-end road where he pops open a bottle of wine and cuts open a block of cheese with a small army knife. There, overlooking the water we share drinks, cheese, our lives and the art of falling in love.