Rosie Labrun is a lot of things: a college student on the cusp of graduation; an intern for the Portland Pirates, a romance novel connoisseur; and the most recent addition to her resume...the girlfriend of a professional athlete.
She won't let it d...
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I am elegant. Balanced. Put-together. I know what to say, what not to, and if you took me to a fine dining restaurant with four dollar signs on it's Google page, I would definitely know which fork to use.
Except, I'm not, and none of those things are true. Maybe if they were, I wouldn't laugh like a disgruntled chimpanzee when Erik tries to be romantic - and I do mean, all the times he tries to be romantic. Kind of like that one time when he told me he wasn't going to last much longer - only a second after going inside of me, and I laughed. Yeah, laughing at a man's ability to perform in the bedroom, or lack thereof, not a good idea.
This time, I not only laugh, but go to laugh just as I've sipped some water through a straw. I know I shouldn't use them because plastic and the turtles are dying, but it's paper. And also, there's ice in the water and if I drink it straight, my lip will burn for hours.
From what I've told you, just like a basic-ass recipe on the back of a cake box, I'm sure you can guess what happens next. I choke. Well, almost. Really, the water just goes down the wrong hole - much like many frat boys or one-night stands might tell you, and I start coughing like a hyena.
"You okay?" Erik worries. I would say what his face looks like - probably too cute for existence, but I can't, because I'm, well, you know, coughing. Instead, I'll tell you what the floor looks like - beer stains. Sticky. Not redone since whoever owns this place, took over the lease.
Not wanting him to think I'm actually choking - and not having something go down the aforementioned wrong hole, I nod. I think the only thing sexier than this would be if I had milk come out of my nose. Quick, grab the shake. No, just kidding - I don't want Erik to burst in his jeans; and also the shakes haven't been delivered yet.
Speaking of which, the bartender takes this opportunity to come strolling over, taking out a city block with the mere sway of his shoulders, on the way here. I'm not sure if it's just convenient timing or because he's worried that someone's about to die and he just can't have that happen during his shift. Too much paperwork. I, concur. Let me go outside.
"Are you okay?" He asks, awkwardly putting the shakes on the table beside us - just in case he has to pull me on top of this one and perform the hymnic maneuver.
Did I mention I'm sexy? Poised? So put-together?
Le sigh. Days since I made a public mockery of myself, is going back to zero.
"I'm good." I manage to get out, proving so by grabbing one of the shakes and taking a sip. Of course, that's about as good of an idea as a Real Housewives reunion. But this time, I'm able to just suffocate inside and occasionally clear my throat, rather than loudly cough to death.
He looks over at Erik, as if I am not able to speak for myself, or a good enough judge of character to know if I'm okay. I did one time go over to a random guy's apartment from Bumble, without having met them anywhere but the lobby of the place, first. And despite not getting crazy-murdered by him or his weed smoking in my presence, roommates, I still think it was a stupid-as-fuck decision.
