Megan

"I'm so sorry. It was never my intention to make you feel like that. Trust me. I'm really sorry."

"I'll forgive you if you come to hang out with me."

I stared at him in disbelief, and wondered what could possibly have possessed him to ask me that question after the way I treated him. My eyes widened, which made him grin, and that in return made me smile, because it was such a hot way for his already handsome face to light up even more.

"Uh," I stuttered, "Okay, then, I guess." His chuckle caused goosebumps to spread all over my body. He is definitely a bad boy. Be careful, Megan. "Alrighty then. Let's do this," I said with more conviction, " Drive ahead and I'll follow you."

"Sounds good," he began, but after a brief moment of thinking he said,"We better exchange numbers, in case we get separated on our way there." Smooth little bastard. Sneaky. "Nah, don't worry. I won't let you out of my sight."

"Oh," he winked mischievously, "Is that so? For how long?" He was being cute, and I knew it, but I couldn't stop myself from reacting like a teenage girl. I grinned so I wouldn't giggle at his words."For the duration of our drive, of course."

"No, seriously. We should exchange numbers. Just in case." He was right, of course. What was the big deal about exchanging numbers anyway? Nothing. So I just entered my number into his phone and he called me right away to check if I had given him a legitimate one and for me to have his as well.

I drove close to his motorcycle and kept my eyes on his form. His wide shoulders and narrow hips were clearly visible from my vantage point and I couldn't help but stare and be amazed. Stop it, Megan! You're almost drooling over a guy you don't even know yet, you superficial slut.

I chastised myself and tried my best to concentrate on driving, and to mute my thoughts, I switched on the radio loudly in my car. A classic rock song was playing and I couldn't help but sing along. I didn't just sing, I growled along while thumping my hand on the steering wheel while nodding my head to the beat.

At the next traffic light, I realized that Smith had turned around to look at me, and I stopped screeching immediately, while blushing profusely. I looked around, there were no other cars in our close vicinity. Whew. Thank goodness for that.

To my amazement, he got off his motorcycle and walked back to my car and knocked on my side window. I opened it and stared him in the eyes questioningly. "What's up?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could manage. "Nothing much. You have a beautiful voice."

"Seriously?" I asked shocked, "Are you tone deaf? Like me?" He looked like he had a hard time suppressing a chuckle, which made me crack up loudly instead. After a short moment, he joined in with a guffaw. It was hard to breathe, I had tears in my eyes, and my sides began to hurt from all the mirth, I leaned my head onto the steering wheel while I tried to calm myself down.

"Let's go," he said with a wink before turning around to get back onto his bike. The side street we were at was a less frequented one, especially at this day and time, so there was still not a single car in sight, when we finally drove off.

I realized that we were heading in the direction of my apartment. We drove until it was just a block away from my place, and I had a strange feeling in my gut, which I couldn't identify. He slowed down and finally stopped in front of an old brick stone house, with dark windows one couldn't peek into.

He parked his bike in front of the dive bar, which presumably was his, and which I had passed by innumerable times already, but hadn't really taken notice of. I stopped my car right beside his vehicle and got out. Looking at the name of the bar, it said "Falling Jazz Man's Speakeasy". It didn't look like much from the outside, which was why I hadn't ever considered going in, and I couldn't wait to see how it looked like inside.

He led the way and I followed suit. The bar had a dungeon motif with low ceilings and dim lighting, that had to have kept away the crowd. It wasn't filled with people as I had expected, which was surprising, considering the tavern was located on a street in a trendy section of the city.

My eyes darted around curiously, and I couldn't explain it, but it felt cozy and homey, rather than dingy, given the appearance on the outside. He slowed his steps until I caught up to him and we walked side by side further into the bar. On our way in he stopped and greeted some costumers who had to have been regulars, because of the warm and easygoing way they spoke to each other. He introduced me as his close friend, an obvious lie that made me blush. However, as I was welcomed in a jovial manner, I warmed up to them easily and even exchanged a few words.

"I'll just talk to my friend, over there," Smith said nodding at the guy behind the bar. He then went behind it and chatted with his employee while I took a seat right in front of them.

As I looked around, I heard Smith's voice, "This place remained unchanged since it first opened in the mid '70s, and I just took it over exactly the way the previous owner had built and decorated this."I wowed in admiration and continued to roam the place with my eyes.

They served $1 popcorn, $9 pitchers and $5 hot cider with bourbon, and even happy hour specials. One could play darts and pool, and put songs on the jukebox. It was a great spot to start or end one's weekend night. The large open bar was not crowded, so there was no waiting for a drink. Some costumers just drank in silence, while others talked in a low voice. Everyone was just minding their own business.

When Smith asked me what I wanted to drink, he was surprised when I ordered a double whiskey. He just shook his head, "I guess I could drive you home later in your car."

I smiled at this thoughtfulness, "No need. I'll just walk home. My place is just a block away from here."

"Ah! That must be it. I thought I've seen you a couple of times, but I couldn't quite place your face," he said in a pondering tone,"We must have crossed paths already."

"I guess so," I agreed, "But, honestly, I can't remember ever seeing you. Because I definitely wouldn't have forgotten a gorgeous face like yours." As I spoke those last words, I realized what I had just admitted and I immediately regretted it. I felt my cheeks reddening, so I grabbed the glass he was holding out to me and drank it all. "Another, please," I said in an attempt to throw his thoughts off of my obvious appraisal of his looks.

He chuckled, and was not in the least bit diverted by my distraction. "I couldn't forget your face either, I just couldn't remember where I had seen you," he said with a grin before turning around to get me a new drink.

I walked over to the juke box, looked at the music selection, and chose Ray Charles' I've got a woman. Swaying slightly to the music, I walked over to the pool table. By the time I had everything set up for a game, Smith came with not just a double whiskey, but several shots. I wondered what he had planned with those.

"Do you want to play?"

"Sure," I replied. I could hardly keep myself from grinning, as I was one hell of a pool player. We had one at home, and only Henry, my oldest brother, could ever beat me, every once in a blue moon.

"Are you any good?" He asked.

"I'm alright, I guess."

"Oh, come on now. Be honest here."

"Well, okay then. I'm quite good. Better than the average Joe, I guess."

"Let's make the game more exciting then," he suggested with a grin and a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"What do you suggest?"

"Before every hit, we both down a shot of these," he said while pointing at the drinks he had brought.

"You must have thought about suggesting this even before I went to the pool table," I accused him, "What would have happened if I had chosen to play darts?"

"Then we would have downed a shot before every turn while playing darts,"he replied with a chuckle.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"No, I am not sure I can."

"What do you mean?"

"You must not have paid much attention during the meal, because your youngest sister told me during dinner, that you can drink like a sailor, and even curse like one when you're drunk. I'm actually curious about the drunk you."

I was appalled and amused at the same time, and wondered what kind of context had made my sister spit out such a fact about me. Shaking my head in disbelief, I planned on asking her the next time I see her. That sounded like my baby sister, alright.

"Alright. Let's do this," I said while grabbing a stick and a chalk, "What does the winner get?"

"Whatever he or she wants. I mean, one wish."

That sounded good to me. Maybe I could ask him to be my plus one for the wedding, so it wouldn't be an official date, but rather a lost game or a bet. It was a perfect arrangement for me, and I was fired up, and ready to win the game.

"What would you want?" I asked curiously, wondering what he had in mind.

"A kiss."

My heart began racing. He had to be joking. My mouth opened and shut several times, but nothing came out. I definitely had to win the game. So, I calmed my nerves and decided to play the best game in my entire life. As if his wish for a kiss was such a bad thing. He is bad news, Megan. And he is playing with you. Literally.

We both drank the first shot and tossed a coin. The guy was set on winning too. He didn't even go with the usual "Ladies first"talk. And it seemed like luck was on his side, as he won the coin toss and got to break. I watched him nervously, and hoped for him to make a mistake.

He chalked up the stick, took a few practice strokes, looked me in the eyes while he did his nice and smooth whack. The balls flew all over the table. The 4 ball dropped into the corner pocket, a high ball went in too. He had his choice of solids or stripes. He looked at the table and saw what I saw, low balls were pretty well spread out.There was a couple of striped balls that were bunched up along the rail and sitting at a weird angle. Before his next shot we downed another glass. I was starting to feel the alcohol loosen my tensed muscles.

I saw a solid 2 ball that was near the 8 and I knew it would make a nice last ball. That was it, I was sure he would take the lows. He dropped an easy 6 ball into the side pocket. We drank the next glass before his next shot, and that went on and on until he finished the most perfect game I had ever seen. By the time he sunk the 8, I was already feeling tipsy, he looked exactly the same, as if the booze didn't affect him in the least.

You idiot! Of course he was great at this too. He owns this place and must have played thousands of times as well.

He was quiet, but was grinning, waiting for my reaction.

Dammit!

He was waiting for a kiss.

***

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