Chapter 1 #2
“To assume we’d journey to Wonderland tonight might be a bit presumptuous, given our fresh acquaintance,” he observes with a playful tone.
“Well, you're right. We won’t be venturing into any fairytales this evening. Especially not any unsuitable for work,” I smirk. Yet, something tells me I might have misstepped with the dashing Mr. Dexter, complete with a sultry man bun and beard.
His grin widens, revealing a set of teeth that are enticingly uneven.
I've always had an odd fascination with smiles. While many are drawn to hair color or eye hue, a captivating smile cripples me. Dexter’s is splendidly flawed — nature’s own design.
Oddly, perfectly aligned teeth make me think of a boob job.
Nothing against them — boobs or braces — but finding a natural smile with its own charm? It's incomparable.
“You’ve hardly thrown a wrench into the evening," he comments, leaning in closer. "I’m quite keen on a spirited discourse with an enchanting lady. Care to indulge me?”
Attempting to play it cool, I lower my gaze and murmur, “I'd be delighted.”
Just then the bartender sets my vodka soda down in front of me and as I reach into my clutch to pull out some bills and pay the man, Dexter pipes up. “Put her drinks on my tab.”
The bartender nods and walks off to take orders at the other end of the bar.
“Drinks, plural? Expecting a long chat, are we?” I quip, trying to keep the conversation light.
“If the pages should turn so easily.” He quirks his lips in that irresistible semi-smile.
With a playful raise of his brow, he inquires, “Now, who, pray tell, is Alis?”
“You’re diving right into the prologue, aren't you? Any particular chapter you're keen on?”
“The full volume.”
I chuckle, feeling a bit more at ease. “Well, I’m a recent addition to Grand River, having moved here two days ago.
My profession? For now, editing. Freelance.
I majored in English, with a sprinkling of creative writing courses.
Life led me on a detour for a while, but I'm hoping to reclaim my narrative.”
Seeing his engaged expression, I wince slightly, “Sorry, I’m not very interesting.”
He offers a comforting grin, “It sounds like a tale I’d be engrossed in.”
“Hardly,” I demur. “Though, if Lewis Carroll had penned about one of my wilder college nights, I might be more compelling. But I doubt Alice's escapades align with mine.”
His laughter is hearty, and the atmosphere between us grows even more magnetic.
He chuckles, the warmth in his voice palpable. “You wear many hats: an editor, a writer, and a reader. Too many more and you might go mad. Tell me more.”
His gaze deepens, a spark of genuine interest flashing as he sips his beer. I can feel him hanging on to every word I'm about to say.
“I wish I had more tales to spin, but honestly, I’m a pretty open book. How about you, Dexter? Have any tales of adventure? Save many damsels in their time of distress?” I pose the question as I take a refreshing sip of my vodka soda.
His grin widens, those teeth again making my heart race.
“Adventure? I guess that depends on your definition of the term. As for damsels, I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of saving anyone, and I’m fairly certain that even if you were in distress, you wouldn’t require my assistance.
My life is tame at the moment. I teach. Outside the classroom, you'll either find me engrossed in a novel, watching my dog chase its tail at the park, or doing something related to hockey.”
I let out a short laugh. “For a moment there I genuinely thought you only spoke in literary prose. I’m happy to learn I don’t have to think too hard to keep up.”
His smile is disarming. I lean closer; I can’t help it. “I love books. I love words. But I’m also a modern man.”
“Fascinating,” I comment, struggling to keep the enthusiasm from my voice and failing miserably. “A modern man, with the soul of Austen’s heroes. I’ve won the lottery, having captured your attention.”
He leans in, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m no Darcy. And clearly, I've read Carroll, given our literary banter. But in the realm of classics, Dumas is my muse. Which brings me to the reason why I'm sitting here.”
Intrigued, I raise an eyebrow, “Dumas drew you to me?”
He nods, painting a scene with his words.
“Tonight, I was the unwilling tagalong of friends on the prowl.
The noise, the crowd — it's all a bit much for me.
But then, amid the clamor, I spotted you, a beacon in this cacophony.
This night was deepest darkness till you appeared and illuminated it all. "
Marguerite de Valois. The man knows his French lit.
“It’s a bit too early to think of me as your sun by day or star by night,” I quip.
His laughter is infectious. “Maybe so, but you’ve added a much-needed spark to my evening, making my stay worthwhile.”
Flattered, I confess, “I'm glad you chose to stay.”
As I prepare to enjoy another mouthful of Belvedere, an unexpected jolt spills my drink, sloshing liquid from my glass and down my dress.
“Alllliiiiissssssssss, why aren’t you dancing with me?!” Skye whines. “Shit, did I just spill your drink? Shit, shit, shit. Sorry!”
“It’s fine,” I say, giving her a slightly annoyed look while dabbing at my dress and legs with the tiny bar napkin. “Ugh, this isn’t going to work. I need some paper towels from the ladies’ room.”
“It’s packed. Line out the door,” Skye reports. I roll my eyes.
“I’ll grab some from the men’s. Be right back,” Dexter says, touching my arm as he slides off his barstool and then heads toward the washroom before I can protest.
“Who is THAT tall glass of water?!” Skye leans in and whisper-yells as her eyes follow him toward the back corridor.
“His name is Dexter. Honestly, I think he's the one guy on this planet who could get me into bed on night one," I reveal, a sly grin playing on my lips.
Skye snorts. “No fucking way. You? The prude? I’d pay good money to see that happen.”
"He has this enchanting way of quoting classics as though they're whispers between old friends. Essentially, he's fluent in my love language. He may yet hold the key that unlocks my chastity belt," I reply with a smirk.
She blinks, eyes locked with mine and moving from one to the other, but doesn’t say anything.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m sorry. One, you’re doing that thing again where you speak like an old book and in my head that just doesn’t compute. Second, my best friend hasn’t even been on a date since college and now she’s telling me she wants a one-night romp fest with a bearded man bun named Dexter. Who are you?!”
I shake my head and laugh. “Right now, I honestly have no idea. I was Alis in the booth, Alis at the bar, and then somehow I channeled my inner Skye and started flirting with the gorgeous man who sat down next to me.”
Skye smiles wider than she has all night. “I dare you to go home with him.”
“What are we, twelve? You aren’t daring me to do anything.” I shrug and let loose another smile. “I want to keep talking to him, and we’ll see where it goes. Besides, I already told him I won’t be going home with him tonight and he was fine with that. Said he just wanted to talk.”
She snort-laughs again. “Yeah, okay. He’s fine with that as long as the conversation ends with you naked and spread out across his bed.”
I swat her stomach and nod toward the mob of dancing people. “Go dance, hussy. You’re the one who wanted to go to a club tonight and I’m pretty sure the grease twins you’ve been dry-humping all night miss you.”
Twiddling her fingers, Skye spins and saunters back to the dance floor.
She disappears into the crowd of bodies before I see whether or not she found her two slices of bread.
Nothing like a Skye sandwich to make her night magical.
I’ve never been into the two-guys-at-once thing.
Not that I’ve ever tried it, but considering my sexual roster is a mere two guys deep and hasn’t been added to since age twenty-one, I can’t even think of attempting anything close to that right now.
Ew. No. I’ll leave the crazy sexcapades to Skye.
And crazy sexcapades include one-night stands in Alis’s world. Dexter is gorgeous, no doubt, but I’ve been talking to him for what, five minutes? I don’t know if I’d forgive myself for ending a nine-year dry spell with a man I’ve literally just met. Nope. Not happening.
I’m shaken out of my runaway thought train when the smell of cedarwood and spruce reappears next to me. “Here; these should work better than that three-by-three-inch excuse for a napkin,” Dexter says as he slides back onto his bar stool.
“Thanks,” I breathe out, taking the paper towels and dabbing them on my chest and dress. “That was my more exciting and adventurous half. She has trouble balancing on two feet.”
“Well, don’t the two of you make a cute couple,” Dexter says through a smile.
“Pfft,” I shake my head in exasperation. “Friends is as far as I’ll ever go with that tornado. Or any woman, for that matter.”
“I see,” he laughs. “So, where were we? I believe you were thanking me for staying.” That half smile has officially turned into a smirk. So he is a bit cocky. Or confident. Either way, that smile/smirk is driving me insane.
“I don’t know that I was thanking you, per se. But I am glad you’re here.” I smile at him and rest my chin on my hand.
“So, Alis —” My phone goes off, Stewy from Family Guy yelling, “Mom! Mommy! Mommy! Mama! Mom!” on repeat until I answer the damn thing. I open my clutch, pulling out the phone to silence the ridiculous ringtone, and read the text from my mom.
I exhale. “I’m so sorry; I’d typically ignore my phone but I need to check this.”
“No worries,” he smiles, motioning for the bartender to get him another beer and replace my spilled vodka soda.
Mom: Sunny woke up running a fever of 101.2. I can take care of her, but she’s crying and asking for you.
Me: Did you give her anything for the fever?