Against the Wall (8 page)

“
Oh my God, are you kidding me?” I can’t even comprehend how absolutely hilarious this is.

“
Get the fuck out of here,” Mel says, shooing them away with a flick of her wrist.

The toddlers disappear, and we practically bust a gut.

“
That seriously had to be the funniest thing I’ve ever heard,” I tell her.

Our Pazookie arrives and we try to stop laughing long enough to enjoy it.

“
They could have at least said N’Sync,” Mel says. “The Jonas Brothers? Those guys probably weren’t even alive when we were in high school. We’re old enough to be their mothers.”

“
Doesn’t look like this is the place for me to get lucky either,” I say.

She swirls the cookie and ice cream around on her plate before saying, “Guess it’s time to move on. Third time’s a charm is what they say, right?”

It’s the same routine once we get in the car.

She sits in silence, as do I. How sad. Neither of us can think of any place to go in search of hot men. At this point, I’d settle for nice looking or even average, and preferably old enough to buy beer without a fake ID. How pathetic. Maybe Nick has a friend, a co-worker. We can head over to his office and I can throw myself at a cute little mail boy or something. Nah, anyone who works with him probably has as much time for me as Nick has for Mel.

The car is moving, but I have no idea where we’re going. Joining a convent is starting to look appealing. Maybe she’s taking me to the local nunnery. Even Mel thinks there’s no hope for me. I
am
pathetic.

“
Here,” I screech, looking up at the happiest place on earth. No, not Disneyland. The Yard House. “I thought I said no.”

“
Shel, get real. If you wanna find a guy who can hang with you, you’ve gotta look at some of your favorite spots. Can you really imagine being with a man who drinks wine? You know the lucky guy you marry has to love beer.”

“
Preferably not the kind you can see through.” I have standards when it comes to my brew. “And preferably not an alcoholic either. I love my drinks but I'm not about to clean up after a sloppy drunk.”

Mel ignores my last comment with a scoff and says, “This is actually a perfect spot too. It’s not cheap, so guys who come here have to at least have a job.”

“
Well, I guess that would be a plus, huh.” We chuckle. My guy definitely needs a J-O-B. “Well, if you think so, let’s go for it. I could use a Guinness right about now.”

“
Uh-oh … jumping to the heavy stuff already.”

Inside, it’s crowded. No surprise there.

“
Don’t you dare just sit here and watch the game either. You need to exude sexiness,” Mel scolds me. She adjusts her bra and her girls perk up. “Look there’s a high top.”

“
A girl who likes sports is sexy,” I tell her.

“
Maybe. But a girl who can talk sports like a man is not. So you can watch, just don’t frickin’ commentate.”

We rush over before anyone else seizes the empty seats. We settle in, order some drinks, and my eyes search the crowd. A lot of guys, who look to be my age, are sitting at the bar. Couples take up most of the tables. A group of barely legal drinkers sit at a booth covered with pints, shots, and cocktail glasses. I remember those days.

“
Check him out.” Mel gestures at a guy looking in our direction from a few tables away.

Good looking, tall, wearing a black v-neck shirt. Clothes aren’t too tight. I can’t see his balls. Not bad. He smiles at me as he tips his glass to take a drink.

“
Ain’t happenin’,” I tell my dear friend.

“
What’s wrong with him? He’s into you,” she responds. She’s most likely right because he’s still looking our way with a smile.

“
Did you see his pint? It’s probably a Coors Light,” I yelp.

Mel shakes her head. “I’ve heard of a wine snob, but not a beer … beer … I can’t think of anything.”

“
I prefer connoisseur. And I’m not going to go out with a guy who drinks piss beer.”

“
He’s still looking at you.”

“
Well, he can keep looking at me all he wants.” Taking a swig of my own dark, thick stout, I suck in my top lip to taste the foam of the rich head gathered on my mouth. Oh, who knew drinking a beer could sound so sexy. I lower my eyes to get a view of some of the others at the bar. “How about the guys at the end?” I suggest. There are two of them, so Mel would have to play along. But they are decently dressed and they are strikingly hot.

“
Ooo. They are cute. What are they drinking?” Mel asks.

I peer at the counter in front of them, but the area is empty. “I don’t know. They don’t have anything yet. Maybe they just ordered.”

We continue to drink and make small talk, all the while observing the two gentlemen at the end of the bar. “Wait. Look. The bartender is getting them drinks,” Mel says, and I try not to stare but I’m anxious. Please let it be a decent beverage.

“
Oh shit,” Mel says. I must have the worst luck in the world.

“
Cosmos? Really? Is this what my life has come to? I’m attracted to men who watch Sex and the City.” I down what’s left of my brew. “I’m destined to spinsterhood.”

“
Hey, that was two. They next one is gonna be the third. Remember, third time’s a charm.” Mel tries to remain positive. Me, not so much. “Let’s keep looking.”

“
Alright, but the next one … I’m not gonna even look at his face until I see what he’s drinking,” I explain. This has to work.

Mel shakes her head in disapproval.

It’s hard to find a mate looking solely at beer glasses. And it’s even more difficult to keep my eyes focused, so I don’t look at faces. This is important though, and I can do it.

There’s a table full of idiots with nothing but cider beer. I can tell from the bubbles, and the pink hue. Painted fingernails means there are women at the table. I look up. I’m right. Hmm, I’m better at this than I thought.

This is fun. Let’s try again.

Lowering my eyes, I search for a table holding glasses filled with amber-colored, or darker, fluid. If I can see through the sauce, it’s not worth a second look. At the very least, it should be cloudy like a darker wheat flavor. Seriously, there are over a hundred brewskis to choose from at this place, and so few people drink anything better than what equates to Budweiser. Why bother? Why not stay home and get an 18-pack of Natural Light for like two bucks?

The next table is filled with samplers. A tray of 8 small glasses of different beers. This could go one of two ways. Experienced drinkers looking to try something new. Or inexperienced drinkers who don’t know any better. No, I’ll pass on this table. I look up. Damn, I shouldn’t have. These guys are good looking. But a few of them haven’t touched the darker varieties so they’re definitely out of the question.

Moving on.

Tables full of women. No. Not for me.

Keep looking. Take your time.

Bingo! Man hands. I spy man hands. Some tan, some light. But strong hands, with long fingers resting or tapping on the table. One glass looks to be filled with a Hef—my assumption based on the lemon floating inside. Bars pair a Hef with lemons, I use an orange. So much better. Another glass looks like maybe a Newcastle.

Jackpot!

The last pint is topped off with what looks like a Black & Tan. The distinct layers of two different beers can be seen from way over here. This is the one and only time a pale ale is allowed—when mixed with a stout. The bartender did an expert pour. I'm dying to take a peek and see if there's a shamrock embossed in the head at the top of the glass. I’m in love with the owner of this tall boy. I want this man. I want to marry him and have his babies. I want to suck the foam off his upper lip, just like I did my own.

I blink hard and my mouth waters. I’m afraid to look up. Please don’t be ugly. Please be at least semi-cute. My eyes begin to take in my future husband at his waist. A piece of his shirt is tucked in the front, out in the back. Comfort is a priority to him. I like it. He wears a worn Claremont McKenna tee, not fitted but tight enough for me to make out his muscular chest. Educated. My man went to college. Not just anyone would sport CM gear.

“
Did you find him?” Mel asks. She knows. She can see the hunger in my eyes.

I look down for a moment.

“
I’m scared to look,” I tell her.

Mel snorts. “Can’t be worse than the guy with elephantitis or the guys with the cosmos.”

“
Here goes nothing,” I say, picking my head up slowly.

My mouth drops. And I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Mel senses my concern. “What is it, Shel? Is he a dog?”

“
He’s.” I blink. “He’s.” I try to swallow even though my mouth has gone dry.

Mel puts her hand on mine. “He’s what, Shel?”

“
He’s. Matty.”

When I look up again, at the man I thought was going to be my soul mate, our eyes meet, and he smiles. Worries subside instantly, and I smile right back. What am I supposed to do? Run? No, I’m going to enjoy this. He passed my test. And honestly, the thought of going somewhere else makes me want to fall into a beer induced coma, and the thought of man-hunting for the rest of the night makes me want to poke out my eyes with a corkscrew. I’m fried for tonight. If talking to Matty will get me home and off to sleep sooner rather than later, then so be it. He can help distract Mel from our search for the next top man in my life.

I watch him say something to one of his friends and strut over to our table.

“
Hey, ladies,” Matty says, tipping his glass at us. “What brings you out tonight?”

“
Beer,” I say, jokingly. “Needed some beer. Lots of beer.”

“
That’s it?” Matty questions. “You both have the
out for blood
look in your eyes, like you’re on the prowl.” He jokingly roars like a kitty.

Mel shrugs him off with a chuckle. “I’m married, Matt.” She holds up her left hand.

“
Okay, but there’s nothing wrong with window shopping. You can look but you can’t take any of the goods home.” Matty winks at her, and turns to me “How about you, Shel?”

Mel interrupts, telling him, “We’re looking for the man of Shel’s dreams.”

Matty turns his attention to me again. “Any luck?”

“
It’s been hard you know, to find the man of one’s dreams based on beer selection.” Mel explains, again stealing Matty’s gaze from mine. It’s okay though because having him near me makes me want to do things to him I shouldn’t even be considering.

A chuckle escapes him. “Shel, that’s hysterical. Dating a pale ale guy is simply out of the question for you, huh?” He shakes his head, but he’s amused. The way he smiles with his whole face is adorable. When Chase smiled, there were times you couldn’t even tell if he was genuinely happy, or just putting on a show. But with this sweet man, even with a soft smile, just the slightest lift in his mouth, you can see his happiness in his eyes, his cheeks, and the tilt of his head. He doesn’t give off any fake vibes. Whatever you sense from him is always real.

“
Hey, there are just some things I can’t get past. Some girls can't stand a guy with girly hands, or guys who don't wear socks, or men who wear ascots. Shitty brew just happens to be a deal breaker for me,” I explain. It dawns on me Matty knows my taste in beer. I smile at the thought. A flood of giddiness creeps over me, and I can’t stop smiling at him. I’m trying to hold back, but it’s not working. Why fight it, right?

Matty sits on the edge of one of the empty seats, and takes another swig of his darkly colored beer. “So a guy could be like nasty looking. I’m talking warts on his nose, big ole ears, and dandruff flaking out of his hair, and as long as he was drinking, let’s say, Guinness, he’d fall in the 'man of your dreams' category?” he asks, lifting his arms to hang his air quotes.

I laugh at his list of yucky traits. Looking into his crystal blue eyes, I tell him, “Yes.”

“
But what if said Guinness was perfectly matched in a pint with a lighter beer … such as Bass?” Matty lowers his eyes at me in anticipation of my response.

I lean forward in my seat, lost in his playful gaze. “Even better.”