The Intrusion

Twenty-Five

[?]

"Men are just the worst!" Jess shouts to me over the blasting sound of "Wrecking Ball" by Miley Cyrus as she shoos off a random drunk creep who was trying to convince us to come with him to another bar that is supposedly more "happening" than this one.

Yeah, right. No place is "happening" on a Monday night.

"Seriously, men," she scoffs, shaking her head and taking a scowling sip of her drink.

I can't help but think she looks adorable as I giggle and nod, using the tiny black straw in my glass to stir around the tart, reddish-purple mixed-drink Jess informed me was "just the best."

"So, have you spoken to him since that night?" Jess sets her drink down on the bar.

"Hmm?" I really have no idea what she's talking about.

"Your ex." She tries to frown while she says it, but I don't think she knows how to properly frown, so it more looks like she's caught a whiff of something foul. "God, it's so fucking rude," she continues. "I see it all the time. Guys bring their girlfriend out on a 'date'," she makes air quotes, "and break up with her right in the middle of dinner. They think it's better, like she won't cry or make a scene or anything because they're out in public, but it's really just fucking embarrassing and disrespectful. My boyfriend broke up with me on a God-damned fucking ski trip, would you believe that? At 1pm, too! He didn't even have the decency to wait until the end of the day to do it! So I had to walk around with him the whole rest of the God-damned day because he still wanted to ski all the slopes because he 'paid for the tickets'," more air quotes, "and I couldn't leave without him because he was my ride there. Fucking bastard. At least your ex-boyfriend was decent enough to leave $20 for the bill. Scumbag." She finally pauses and takes a sip of her drink. "Sorry," she adds at the end of her rant for good measure.

I stare at her, eyes wide, my inebriated mind attempting to process what she just said. Jess must think Jordan and I were dating and that I dumped her at the restaurant.

"Jordan, are you all right?" Jess asks after I haven't said anything for a while. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she continues. "That was really rude of me. You still have feelings for him, don't you?" She puts her head in her hands and shakes it while muttering "sorry" and "I'm so stupid" to herself under her breath over and over again.

"Hey," I touch her arm. "Jess, you're fine. Really." She looks back up at me. "I was just confused, because Andy—he was my boyfriend, you see—didn't break up with me. I broke up with him." I don't know why I say it, but I guess I don't want Jess to feel guilty about trash-talking my "ex" anymore. I have to say something. I can't stand seeing her upset like this.

Jess smiles at me for a moment, but then a look of confusion sneaks across her face. "Wait, but Jordan, then why were you crying at the restaurant after he left?"

I pause. Why was I crying? I mean, why was Jordan crying. Did I make her cry? What did I do to make her cry?

I don't have any idea why she was crying, but Jess needs an answer, so I've got to come up with something.

"It was a tough breakup," I finally say. "It had been a bad relationship, and I was glad to finally get out of it. It was a relief. He, Andy-my-ex-boyfriend-Andy, has problems." I think back to the first night Jordan and I went out. "Drinking problems," I finally say, nodding because that will work. "He's an alcoholic."

Jess scowls. "Well, I'm happy for you that you ended it, Jordan. That was brave of you. So many girls get themselves sucked into terrible relationships and stay in them way too long. Good for you."

"Thank you."

We are silent for a moment, and then Miley Cyrus's "Wrecking Ball" ends and the song "I Can't Feel My Face" by The Weeknd comes on. I'm pretty sure it's a song about cocaine, which makes me think about mirrors. I've never done cocaine, but I think I'd try it if someone offered it to me.

Jess suddenly shrieks out of nowhere and I nearly drop my drink. "I love this song!" she wails. And with that, she leaps from her seat and grabs my hand. "Come on, girl, let's dance!"

She pulls me away from the bar, where I have been drawing the letter "J" over and over again on the counter top with the condensation from my glass, and out into the middle of the room.

Taking both of my hands in hers, she swings back and forth, flipping her hair and shout-singing along with the song.

The lyrics are easy.

Pretty soon, I'm dancing along with her. She does a little twirl under my arm and giggles. That's when I realize I'm singing along too.

Her face is close to mine and she's shouting: "I can't feel my face when I'm with you!" It's loud, and her breath smells like beer, but I love it. Then suddenly, her lips are against mine. I close my eyes. She tastes like beer and cranberry juice, and it's sweet and lovely.

I kiss her back. Her tongue presses between my lips and against my teeth, and I let her. Her fingers brush against the back of my head. I place my hand on the side of her face! and we stand like that together.

But then, a second later, she pulls away, and it's over. She stares at me, her face bright red and eyes wide.

"Jordan," she says quietly. "I'm... I'm so sorry. I don't know why I did that."

I stare back, equally shocked. I don't know what to say, but I have to manage something. "I've never kissed a girl before." I give her a faint smile.

She bites her lip, not in a flirty way, more in a nervous way, but it's still cute. "I've never kissed a girl before, either," she says.

We stand there staring at each other for a few seconds longer, and then the song ends and a song by The Backstreet Boys comes on. A smile creeps onto her face, so I start smiling too, and then we both start laughing.

Once our fits of laughter stop, she places her hand on my arm and says: "Shots?"

I nod my head.

With that she grins and takes my hand. She pulls me back over to the bar where she orders two shots of Tequila. After the bartender pours them, she picks hers up, winks at me and takes it.

I follow her lead.

Wow.

I really hate Tequila.