17. What kind of world do we live in?
17
"What kind of world do we live in?"'
Marissa Martin
We’re hanging out at a crowded bar downtown, and I’ve never felt so out of place. Girls seem to sparkle under the mood lighting—not to mention they all have killer bodies. The guys are all smiles, and more forward than I thought they would be. I seriously have to get out more. We’ve only been here fifteen minutes, and two groups of guys have already offered us a drink. It’s like they were waiting by the door or something. We declined, since we were taken by surprise, and because we wa nted to have a look around first and settle in.
Gosh, I feel old.
We’re now sitting at the bar, chatting, when a cute guy sits next to me.
“Hey,” he says. “I’m Dave. Can I buy you a drink, or would you rather just take my number now?”
I want to roll my eyes, but I catch Beth giving me an insistent look, so I force a laugh instead. Points for effort, I guess. “I’m Marissa.” I smile, offering my hand. “And I’m good with this one for now.” I raise my drink with my other hand.
The guy kisses my hand, leaving a tiny wet spot. I was not expecting that. I guess it’s my fault for giving him my hand. But he seems nice enough. I try not to let my disgust show as I discreetly wipe my hand with a napkin.
“So, are you from around here?” he asks, before ordering a drink from the bartender.
“I moved here two summers ago. What about you?”
He nods and grins. “Yep. Born and raised in New York.”
We chat about our jobs, and he tells me he likes to read, which is always a bonus point in my book—pun intended. Just when I’m starting to think he’s pretty cool and maybe I could see him again, he leans forward and croons, “that dress is really sexy. I’d love to take it off you. With teeth.”
I do a double take, just to make sure this man really said that and it wasn’t my wild imagination. With my brain, anything’s possible, but there’s no mistaking the sly grin on his face.
Is this guy serious? We’ve been talking for barely half an hour, and he expects me to sleep with him already?
He cocks his head and opens his mouth, but I have no interest in hearing what obscenity might come out of it next.
“Hard pass,” I say before swiveling back to Beth, who’s chatting with a guy.
She turns around, frowning. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Carry on. I’m going to the restrooms. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m coming with you,” she says, stepping away from the bar.
“No, stay. That guy looks nice,” I whisper in her ear. Besides, she really needs to get Lucas out of her head.
She shakes her blonde hair, finishing her drink. “I’m here with you.” She turns around and tells the guy something before hooking her arm in mine. “Plus, we don’t have much in common,” she says as we walk to the restrooms.
After doing my business, I come out of the stall to wash my hands. Two girls are chatting at the sinks as they reapply their makeup. They’re prob ably my age, but we couldn’t be more different. Perfect figures, heavy makeup, and clothes that leave little to the imagination. They look great. Confident in their bodies. They actually say out loud how hot they are. I suddenly feel out of place. Maybe if I put myself out there more, it’ll be easier?
Beth comes out, washes her hands, and reapplies her lip balm. “Ready to head back out?”
I nod. As ready as I’ll ever be.
We worm our way back to the bar, but before we get there, a hand gropes my butt, and I gasp. I swing around and come face to face with a blond dude. What’s wrong with the men around here?
At first, I give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he thought I was someone else. But the way he ogles me, his glassy eyes raking my body while a smug smile plays on his face, tells me I was very much his intended target.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I yell, taking a step toward him.
“Baby, that dress, and what’s underneath, is begging for someone to put his hands on it,” he drawls.
Anger courses through my veins, and I do something I never thought I would. I smack the guy in the face. “I don’t want your hands on me,” I say.
“Marissa,” Beth calls, horror washing over her features. “What’s going on?”
The guy touches his face, an expression of disbelief plastered on it. “She slapped me.”
“What the—” Another guy grunts, joining us. He smells like alcohol and looks as bright as his friend.
“Have you ever heard of consent?” I snap back. I want to curse at him to cement my point, but I won’t stoop to their level.
The guy and his friends are now spitting their venom at me, calling me a bunch of names, even throwing the word “assault” into the mix.
A small crowd has formed around us, everyone staring and laughing, and my chest constricts. Is this really what it means to put yourself out there these days? Guys expecting you to go home with them after one drink and groping you as you walk past? Am I so out of touch that I don’t find this normal?
“Ma’am, you’re going to have to come with me,” says a tall, brawny bouncer wearing a black suit.
My eyes widen. “You have got to be kidding me!” Is this some kind of joke? “You’re asking me to leave? He’s the one who just groped me!”
“Ma’am, please,” he says, showing us the way.
“This is preposterous!” Beth exclaims, her face turning red. “She did nothing wrong. It’s that pig’s fault.”
“You too, sweetheart,” the bouncer says, and Beth is now an even deeper shade of crimson.
Sweetheart? Seriously?
“This is—let’s just go,” I say, taking Beth’s hand.
We walk to the coatroom, grab our stuff, and get out of there as fast as we can, security hot on our heels.
“Sorry I got us thrown out,” I say, when we reach the sidewalk, still buttoning my coat. “That guy grabbed my butt, and I kind of lost it. What’s wrong with me?”
Her eyes stretch wide. “ What’s wrong with you? Nothing’s wrong with you! You did the right thing, smacking him. And that security guy? Ugh. What kind of world do we live in?”
I shake my head. “I hate this. Dating sucks.” Seriously. You sausage yourself into an uncomfortable dress, wearing layers of shapewear and makeup, just to be disrespected left and right. Why do people even do this?
Beth chuckles, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “That’s not dating, though. And that dummy doesn’t represent the entire masculine population. We just have to choose our hangout more carefully next time,” she says before reapplying her lip balm. “Maybe a sports bar?”
“I don’t know, Beth. I don’ t think I’ll ever find someone. And I’m not exactly eager to do this again anytime soon.” Nor am I eager to argue with some doucheface about which NHL team is superior.
She forces me to stop, dragging me to a bench. “You will find someone. I promise you. How about a dating site? Way less scary.”
I chew on my lip. At least there would be no groping online. It’s not such a bad idea. No matter how uncomfortable tonight was, my pining for Aaron still has to stop. “Have you ever tried one?”
She shakes her head. “Nope, and I don’t think I’m there yet. But it doesn’t hurt to give it a shot. At least you can get to know the guy online a bit before seeing him in person.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Okay,” she says, opening her bag to grab her phone. “Let’s set up your profile.”