I wake up in the morning and roll over to turn off my alarm which makes an annoying high pitch sound. Standing up, I yawn and look outside my window. The sun is shining, and I'm exhausted, yet the day is just starting. I was at the bar until midnight last night. Even though I had some unfortunate circumstances, I am satisfied. I scratch my bare chest before grabbing a towel and heading to the bathroom connected to my bedroom. I hang the towel on a hook before I relieve my bladder. It's almost seven in the morning, and my classes begin soon. I play music off my phone's speaker before hopping into the shower.

I wash my body with some body wash before l start to lather my hair in shampoo. It's so steamy and hot that I start to sweat. The heat nearly burns my eyes. It's nearly seven thirty in the morning, and my classes start in half an hour. I hop out of the shower and dry myself off. I grab some gel and quickly slather it in my hair. It may not be perfect, but I won't look like I put no effort into my hair.

I have to find my keys because I need to leave. I reach and I can't find them. I throw the pillows off the couch looking for it. Damn, I'm going to be late. My keys fly off the couch and I grab them, thankful that I find them when I do.

I start to drive my car on the way to college, and I make it there with just five minutes to spare. I sit down in class and take out my laptop, which I place on the tiny desk I barely fit into from being a giant. Everybody is in the front of the room, which is as big as an auditorium. The teacher starts to call on people to answer the assignment questions. At which, I lower my body in the seat to be invisible from the teacher. I feel a vibration in my pocket and take out my phone. I'm in a group chat,

"Hey, the buddies and I are going to the bar, you know, the one with the hot bartender," when they say that, I feel my heart beat a little faster. "were they talking about Allie?" floods my mind. I await the response, nearly jumping out of my seat.

"No, what bar are you talking about?" I question behind my screen. The only hot bartender is the one who shows their innocence. Not the one who whores around, giving themself to everybody who asks.

"The bartender's name was Emma," upon receiving a response, my heartbeat slows. I feel relief that they know nothing of Allie, my favorite bartender.

"Oh, yea. I know what bar that is." I answer, quickly putting my phone down because the instructor is looking at me. He catches eye contact with me. I am still trying to slouch to be barely visible. A loud buzz is heard through the lecturing hall due to my phone buzzing, and all students are silent.

"You there? What's your name?" He points directly at me, yet I pretend he's not talking to me by looking in the other direction, avoiding locking eyes with him. He is a professor who doesn't care about teaching because he'd been at the university for at least ten years. His tall stature didn't scare me, and his tenure also didn't bug me.

My stupid mouth opened. "Me?" I occlude, pointing at my chest. I swiftly move my phone off my desk and shove it into my pocket before the professor can see it.

"Yes," he concludes, shaking his head from up and down while waving his expo marker in the air. "what is the answer to question number ten?" He questions. I look around me at the people who are studying their textbooks. Reading the chapters, hoping the teacher doesn't call on them.

Shortly after, I don't know what happened, but my phone made the notification sound, and the teacher glared at me and rolled his eyes.

"Yes." I am confused. I didn't do the assignment. Rarely do I ever complete my homework, much less pay attention in class? He then interrupts my thoughts,

"That answer is incorrect; I am not asking a close-ended question. I would appreciate it if you gave me the right answer, mister," He goes to the class list and tries to figure out my last name. "Mr.Brown," the crevices of his eyebrow narrow down to show a face I would never want a professor to give; disappointment. When they gave me this face in high school, I knew having detention would be consequential. I look at him again and feel his glare through the back of my brain.

I look around me, and I'm the center of attention. The way I liked it, good or bad. Any attention is better than none. I get out of my squeaky seat, and the whole class pauses. The teacher tells me to sit down, but I refuse. I leave the room, slamming the wooden door as I leave. A gust of wind proceeds past my back. I'm not nervous, just pissed. Maybe I did overreact, but I was so tired and so confused. Sometimes, it's not good for me to be in a place for too long, or I get easily distracted.

I walk past the vacant hallways due to classes being in session. Of course, it's eerie, but I don't back down from a challenge. I shoved the phone into my pocket so fast when the professor saw me that I forgot to turn on Do-not-disturb mode. I focus on my environment so much that I don't realize my phone is buzzing in my pocket. I pull it out back to a group chat that my friend had sent me,

"You ready to go to the bar?" I don't know the bar they are talking about, but I agree. I'm walking towards my car, which sits beside a parking lot's sidewalk.

"Sure" This response is not one that I often give. Normally, it was my way or the highway. I don't want Allie to get the wrong idea about me. I'm not a bad guy, but often I end up in the wrong group. Even if I am a bit cocky, that doesn't make me a bad guy.

I am looking for the perfect playlist for my twenty-minute drive home. Scrolling through Spotify, I find a playlist that screams: "I'm a 2000s child." As I'm driving, I meet a stoplight that turns yellow. I speed through it, nearly meeting red as I pass the intersection. It's only a couple minutes from my house, and I make it home. It's only 8 am, and I may not have the rest of the day to sleep.

I obsess over the innocent bartender who put me in my place last night. There's something so sexy about somebody being bossy. It had nothing to do with what they were wearing. You could tell how long a bartender is there by their social skills; hers were top key. Allie has been working there for years but has never met me, which I find surprising because I'm a bar hopper. If things are meant to be, I strongly believe they will be.

Before I know it scrolling through social media is taking my whole day away. I realize my friends didn't mention a time when having a short conversation. I quickly grab my phone because it's getting later outside. Now it is 5 in the afternoon. As the sun peaks past the trees, it starts to set. I text my friends,

"what time did you say that you wanted to meet up?" Through the group chat, my question has little significance. My friends are talking about who has the biggest breasts and ass. I don't care to answer or be a part of the conversation.

"@CoolBrown, yea, we are meeting in about an hour." My friends don't like to give me a set time, mostly because I arrive whenever I want. Not only that but sometimes my friends don't arrive at all. My friends and I are buddies but not fraternity brothers. Although sometimes, in public, we pretend we are.

"Where are we meeting?" I ask another question. It's little significance to everything going on in the conversation. Now they are talking about which one of the bartenders would be the best in bed. I don't care to hear; I am innocent, even if I don't look like it on the outside.

"1313 Main Street" I quickly grab my phone and look up the address, which seems familiar. I glance off into the distance. I walk to the bathroom and take my time brushing my teeth. Quickly throwing on shoes, I push my foot into the heel. I head out of my room inside my apartment, far from the college campus. I throw on some quick tunes and drive toward the bars that are located downtown. I think little of the bartender I will meet; she isn't Allie.

I'm only about a minute away from the downtown location when I conclude this isn't a different bar but the one where Allie works. My friends are sitting in the parking lot waiting for my arrival. I'm not keen on my bros waiting for me, but they're my buddies, so I let it slide. They sit in the bed of their truck which has a lift kit. I pull into the driveway and park my car close to them. I roll down my window but not my ignition. It's a small parking lot, so there isn't much room, and it was a Friday night. The bars are busy. Maybe she won't notice me, but I probably stick out like a sore thumb to her.

I leave my car when my friend Levi says, "Hey Travis, ready for this?" My brothers huddle around me, enclosing into a circle. Levi touches my shoulder and smiles, "Let's go." Other strangers huddle outside, smoking by an ashtray, and they move out of our way as we push through the congregation of men. I open the door, which leads to a noisy environment.

There are so many people that she won't notice me, so I stop being hypervigilant. I shouldn't care that she will form an opinion of me, but I hope it will not cause her to avoid me. People are slouching by the counter, and others are casually holding beet bottles in the grasps of their hands, entertained by the people playing pool. I sit at a table so the back of my head is visible to the bartender, and my boys crowd the area around me. I don't care to know everybody by name, only Levi.

I look back at the bar; how would I get a drink without the bartender seeing my face? There's no possible way. I get up and walk toward the door abandoning my friends, when a woman crashes into me with a tray full of drinks. I look down because I would prefer she didn't see me.

The drinks spill all over her clothes; she gets up and runs to the bathroom while the men in the bar snicker at her. I assume it is Allie, so I frown. Following her to the bathroom, she slams the door behind her. It takes her a few minutes before she comes out. Impatiently waiting for her to leave the bathroom, I anxiously bite my nails. My anxiety disappears the second she opens the door.

Without seeing her, I say, "I'm so sorry, Allie." She flips her hair back and looks at me,

"I'm sorry, you have me mistaken. The name isn't Allie. It's Emma." She looks at me confusedly. "Allie called in, and she isn't here." Allie's smile invades my thoughts when I realize she isn't there. "It's true. I have a crush, and it's a bartender."