Eyes Wide Open, Part 2…

I was going one way with this story, then decided on this route.  What do you think, does it work or no?  Read Part 1 here

Mr. Gorgeous turns to me just as I’m turning toward him and wow, those eyes!  Pale icy blue like foam on the ocean.  “Ooh, that’s good,” I think.  “I should write that down.”  I catch myself before I pull out my phone and remember that I’m in the middle of flirting with the best looking guy I’ve seen in awhile.

“Grayson” he says, extending a hand.  “Oh, and I’m Jamie,” I say, “and thank you for the drink, Grayson.”  “Of course,” he nods, enveloping my proffered hand in both of his.  “Please call me Gray. I’ve seen you here before.”  It’s not a question and I feel the warmth of his hands slowly chafing mine and gently try to tug my hand away.  “Really?”  I’m flattered and a little caught off guard. Why haven’t I noticed him before?   I glance down at our still entwined hands and then back up at his face, using my trademark wide-eyed look, flipping my long brown hair over my shoulder. But, something’s wrong and I find myself pulling away, squinting at him instead.

“Ahh, Janie,” he says,  looking puzzled, “Is everything all right with your eye — let me see,” he says, reaching to tip my chin up.  I pull back quickly out of reach as I feel the color creeping up my cheeks. “It’s actually Jamie,” I say, “And I need to go to — I’ll be right back,” I say, gesturing vaguely toward the ladies room.

Oh, cripes, l can’t get my right eye open.  Those damn cheap lash extensions must have gotten stuck to my bottom lashes and no amount of struggling to open my eye is helping.  Grayson is still looking perplexed and now I hear snickering from behind the bar.

Face hot, I stand quickly and Gray, ever the gentleman, stands, too, as I half-blindly lunge for the ladies, completely forgetting that the glass of pinot noir I was so sexily running along my throat only moments ago is still in my hand.  We both watch in silent fascination as the pinot gently arcs out of my glass and onto my gorgeous new silk blouse, specifically right onto my left boob, making it look as though I’ve been shot through the heart.

“Oh, my, Janie, can I help?”  Gray is sounding a little strangled and I think he might be choking back laughter, the jerk.  But, no, not laughing, just looking horrified and disdainful at my clumsiness. How mortifying.  Out of the corner of my good eye I see my friend, Mike, the bartender, with his head down, big shoulders shaking silently with mirth.  Waving off Gray’s offer to blot my chest, I head for the ladies room, wobbling as fast as my knockoff Manolo Blahniks allow, my right eye still glued shut and my face as red as the stain on my top.

It seems like forever that I’m in the ladies room, trying to rinse out my silk blouse and drying it under the hand dryer, most likely just making things worse.  Oh, God, could this night get any better?   I finally got my lashes unstuck enough that they only made me look slightly unbalanced, but not in a completely axe murderer way.

So with a faint pink blot over my left boob, I made my way back to the bar and, big surprise, Mr. Gorgeous is gone.  Mike, lips twitching slightly, says, “Hey, Princess, can I get you a refill?”  I give him my best withering look as I slide my glass over.  “Just the house wine.   And quit laughing, you idiot.”  By now I’m scowling. “He left, didn’t he?  Grayson, I mean?”  “Yeah, I know who you meant.  And yeah, right after you ran to the ladies.   Said he had a meeting or something.  I didn’t mean to laugh at you, babe,” he says gently, his eyes warm.  “But the whole thing with your eye and the wine –”

“Yes, yes, I know.  I’m a laugh a minute.  But what am I going to do?”  I wail, “You know I have to write that article on flirting and picking up guys and its more like I’m driving them away.  He didn’t even ask if you knew my number or leave me his or anything?”  I know I’m grasping at straws but I only have a month to finish this article and I’m not having much luck with the research.

“Sorry, Princess, nada.  But, come on, he couldn’t even get your name right,”  Mike says, his big hands reaching over and sweeping up the cocktail napkins on the bar where Gray and I were sitting and tossing them into the trash.   Without my glasses, I didn’t notice if there was writing on any of them…

~Diane D.