That Boy From the Bar

The Start

Song for this story: I Like Me Better by Lauv

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It was past ten in the evening. The music was blaring so loud I could hardly understand the words my friends were saying.

Three hours of free-flowing drinks, and everyone just seemed so dazed they couldn't keep a steady eye contact anymore.

Everyone except for that guy in the corner. Sporting a black shirt, fitted jeans and nerdy looking eyeglasses, he completed the all-mysterious-looking-whatever look, or as I commonly call it, the AMLWL. Okay, maybe the best word for it was, "The Cliché."

The first moment he walked through the glass door, I already found him boring enough that I did not pay any mind to him. That was until everyone was just doing shit I could not bear to watch.

Now, he was just staring at everyone. Then to his drink, twirling the straw as if he could be anywhere but there. I wouldn't blame him though, I, too, would want to leave that place or rather, I wouldn't even want to be there in the first place. Alcohol and teenagers with raging hormones just don't match for me, really.

Everything that I've been saying so far might have bored some of you, but I just wanted to help you picture the scene that I was currently in before we jump to the reason as to why I woke up in the morning wearing nothing but my undies and his shirt. And no, we did not have sex.

It all began with me, your ever-so-gracious goddess, leaping on the sudden surge of courage and went to the table he was sitting on. I sat beside him, and he looked up from his half-empty glass of beer. I would know since everyone was drinking the same thing.

"How much do you wanna bet that he'll fall asleep while dancing in about..." I paused, looking for the time, and he suddenly thrust his hand on me. I looked down and analyzed the time on his wristwatch, then looked back up to the guy I was referring to. "Okay. Ten minutes," I finished and beamed at him.

He smiled shyly. I knew he was shy because he turned his head to the other side as he did. Rolling my eyes, I bumped shoulders with him. "Come on. We're the only sober people here and these drunkards are boring me," I urged.

Still, with that, I admit, it was cute, smile, he replied, "Okay." His voice was deep and husky. I don't know if it was only because he hadn't spoken much that evening or that was really how he always sounded.

"So?"

"A place to crash," he said.

I tilted my head to the side, not understanding his words. Probably noticing the confusion on my face, he chuckled. That kind of laugh that was holding back and was almost inaudible -- just cute.

Turning his whole body towards me but leaning back a bit, he explained, "If he didn't drop unconscious within the ten minutes time limit, you'll have to get me a place to crash."

Nodding, I said, "But if I won?"

"Name what you want," he replied, a smile seemed to be plastered on his face permanently.

Thinking, and stopping within a few moments, I shrugged. "I'll think about the prize when I won."

"Alright." Then holding out his hand, "I'm Kole."

Shaking it back, "I'm V."

"Just V?"

"Yup."

"I don't believe you." And with that, he started listing off names that could possibly answer as to why I was nicknamed V. The names he suggested was getting more ridiculous after another until he pushed the final buttons.