20. Julie
Julie
“The beauty of love is that you can fall into it with the most unexpected person at the most unexpected time.” – Rumi
I twist the little chain bracelet with tiny orange charms on my wrist for the hundredth time as my colorful heels click against the paved concrete, the ties around my ankles brushing against my skin with each step.
I don’t think I look too fancy but maybe I should’ve dressed without Hope’s help for this. She made me put in way more effort than I would otherwise, including the said bohemian-style heels I impulse bought a month ago with her.
At least I set a hard limit on my underwear. There’s no reason I need to wear the lacy pair she shoved at me when I’m comfortable in my simple, cotton ones. They even have cute cherries on them, and I’m the only one seeing them tonight, so comfort won.
But the rest was her idea. My flowy, ankle-length ivory skirt with embroidered flowers in it.
The brown, knit crop top that ties on my neck and has cute, colorful beads hanging from the bottom, over my exposed stomach.
Hope also decided I should put my hair in one of those half up-dos I like to wear and I slipped my long, beaded earrings into my ears.
Not fancy. But definitely too much for a date I didn’t want to go to.
Breathe in and out, Julie. It’ll be just a nice, simple evening with a person you don’t know. Or rather, don’t know that well seeing as I know nearly all single men in LC.
Letting the air out of my lungs, I fling the door to LPs open.
It is most definitely not just a date I note when I walk in, and Willa leads me to a booth at the end of the bar. I nearly twist my ankle in these heels when I see who's occupying the other side of the said booth because I’ll never mistake these broad shoulders and brown hair for anyone else.
Anyone other than Griffin Owling.
Sweet daisies, they did plot this… Why am I always so naive?
“Enjoy your evening, darling.” Willa sends me a knowing smile, and I stifle a groan. Yep, I was set up.
Big time.
Griffin is just about to take a sip of his beer when he notices my approach and stops the glass halfway to his mouth, staring at me with confusion.
“What are you doing here?” he asks slowly, his eyes traveling up and down my body.
“I’m on a blind date?” It definitely comes out as a question. “To be fair I was pressured into this.” I slide onto the other side of the booth, the cool blue leather seat feeling heavenly to my suddenly overheated body.
“No, I’m on a blind date,” Griffin states, his brown eyes piercing through mine.
“Well, looks like I am it.” I open the menu despite knowing every item on here by heart. The one that's hammering inside my chest.
“I thought you were already dating someone.” He frowns, the dark strands of his hair that lay over his forehead, moving from the movement.
God, why did you have to make him so hot?
Just look at the way his black button-up shirt strains against his shoulders and chest. There’s even a small patch of dark hair peeking through the top.
Griffin left the first couple buttons unbuttoned, and I have to stifle a whimper as I shift in my seat because that tiny peek is enough to make my evening torturous.
Is there water anywhere here?
The feeling of his questioning eyes on me isn't helping this heat wave. Why is he looking at me like that?
Oh wait, he asked me something. Something about dating someone, right? Focus, Julie. You can’t go falling into Lala land just yet. Save that for your lonely bed and vibrator tonight.
“Are you talking about Owen?” It’s my turn to frown.
“Yeah?”
“We broke up.” I shrug. “But technically, I'm not sure we could ever call that dating.”
“What? When?” Griffin suddenly straightens in his seat.
“Um, three months ago.” Griffin’s eyes widen and then it’s as if his whole world comes crushing down. If I wasn't paying such close attention, I’d miss all those inexplicable emotions in them.
“I didn’t know,” he says quietly.
“How would you? You haven’t spoken anything more than two-word sentences to me in the last three months. Apart from the other day at the beach.”
Griffin clears his throat. “I spoke to you,” he says quietly with slight indignation.
“Mm-hmm, like I said, two words . ‘Hey, Julie’ and ‘Bye, Julie.’” It’s not like I’m butthurt over it. Not at all.
Liar.
“I’m pretty sure I snuck in a ‘How are you?’ somewhere in there,” he murmurs under his breath, and I decide to move on before I taint my aura anymore with negativity.
“I didn’t peg you for a blind date kind of guy.”
“That’s because I’m not.”
“Then how did you end up here?”
“I lost a bet to Luke. So, you’re really single?” I arch my eyebrows. Why is he still asking me that?
“As single as I was in my mother’s womb.” I flip the page in the menu.
“And you were all this time?” I nod, still confused. “I need a drink,” Griffin says shakily—almost desperately.
“Um, your beer is right there.” I point at the glass with amber liquid in it standing right in front of him.
“That won’t cut it. I need something way, way stronger.”
“Why?” I frown. Is a date with me that horrible for him that he needs to drink himself to death to endure it?
My stomach rolls, all the courage I had suddenly vanishes.
I look down. I thought I looked cute and maybe even a little sexy with the cut of this top, but I guess that’s not good enough for Griffin.
What does he want?
Who is he looking for?
God, I should just go…this was obviously a horrible idea. You can’t mesh two completely different paths into one. And this silence is getting awkward.
I don’t do awkward. Awkward is a technique to hide your true emotions behind, a shield of sorts and that just isn’t my style since I prefer to be brutally me. Smiles, wild, untamed hair, and all.
After that fateful day at Fifi’s nearly two decades ago, I fought it for a bit and found myself deeply unhappy so instead, I embraced it. And I’ve also embraced the fact that I’m not the one for him.
“Maybe I should g—” I don’t get to finish my sentence when Willa interrupts us, setting a few shots down on the table and Griffin pushes one my way.
“Drink?”
I eye the red liquid inside it suspiciously. I’m not one to drink usually, but what else do I have to lose at this point? My life is falling apart, my dreams are crashing and burning for the millionth time already.
Maybe getting drunk wouldn’t be the worst idea. So, I swipe the shot and down it in one go, wincing immediately at the overly sweet concoction that could barely mask the strong taste underneath it.
It doesn’t taste like alcohol though, so who knows what Willa just served us. Griffin follows my lead and without saying anything else, pushes the next one my way.
“God, what is in this?” Griffin grimaces after we both take the second shot but waves for another round, nonetheless.
“Knowing Willa, nothing that’ll end good for us.” The subject in question silently sets another set of shots and leaves.
That in itself is strange. Usually, you can’t get her to stop talking, but suspicions go out the window when we pick it up and keep drinking.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” I hear myself say but don’t remember allowing the question to slip out—and I’m not that far gone to not register my cheeks warm up. But it might also be from all the shots I’ve already drank.
“I have,” he agrees, catching me off-guard, and by the looks of it, himself as well.
“Why?”
“I have no idea why I just admitted to it, but we are not nearly drunk enough for that conversation,” Griffin says, pushing yet another shot my way. “Is it me or it’s starting to taste better?”
“Definitely better,” I agree, and since it doesn’t look like either of us is going anywhere and my brain is already muddled, I say the first thing that comes to my mind. “You look good in your firefighter uniform.”
“Huh?” Griffin looks down as if expecting to see it on but it’s not there. “I’m not wearing them.”
“I know.” I roll my eyes, the move making the room dance a little.
“Wait, why are we talking about my firefighter uniform?”
“Because you don’t want to tell me why we are getting drunk and because I’ve always wanted to say that you look hot in it.”
“I do?” He drowns another shot and so do I.
Where are they all coming from?
“Mm-hmm.” Wait, why did I just say that? Yet I’m still talking. “Those shirts are so tight; your chest is very well defined in them.” I feel someone patting my boobs.
Oh wait, that’s me. I snort.
“And let’s admit, nothing will make your ass look bad. Even those huge pants.”
Why am I gesturing with my hands and am I slurring? Already?
“You look at my ass?”
“Everyone looks at your ass, Griffin.” I snort again. God, I need to stop that.
“Why are we talking about my ass?”
I shrug. “I have no idea. What do you want to talk about?”
“Your boobs. Wait, that’s not a gentlemanly word. Breasts? Is that better?”
“Boobs are fine.” I wave him off. “What about them?”
“Are they real?”
I frown, looking down at my cleavage. “Of course!”
“They look too good to be true.” Somewhere in the back of my mind I register that Griffin likes my boobs, but the thought vanishes as soon as it came.
I scoff. “They are as real as they come. Here, feel them!” I grab his hand and place it on my right—wait, no, it’s my left boob—and stare at him. “See, real.”
“Uh-huh.” He nods absentmindedly, looking at my chest without blinking. “I’m touching your boob. How did we get here?”
“I have no idea. Another drink?”
Griffin nods and without taking his hand off me, drinks his shot and so do I.
“What else do you want to talk about?” I ask.
“I don’t want to talk about anything.”
“What do you want to do then?”
His hand is still on my boob, but his eyes are on my lips. Are they on my lips or is it my imagination? Totally could be that. But then Griffin leans over the table, gesturing for me to do the same and whispers, “I want to kiss you.”
“You do?” I whisper back, blinking at him.