Kayla's Rebound

I stared at the foaming mess of a beer sitting in front of me almost amused by the lack of skill the bartender proudly displayed in pouring such an eye sore, and equated the chaotic swirling of browns and whites to the tumultuous emotions storming my mind. I did not want to be here, Julia knew it, and apparently the bartender had guessed it in his blatant disregard to properly pour a stout. "It'll settle," Julia had laughed off my frustration when the beverage first arrived, "honestly, I don't know how you can drink that crap anyway; it's too bitter, and gross."

Too bitter...and gross. James never said anything like that to me, even when he did not approve of my selection. He would just give me that understanding head-nod to remind me that he not only accepted, but cherished, the differences between us. He would never openly disprove of what we could not agree on; he would simply laugh. 'Yin and yang...only opposite,' he would explain to anyone who did not understand the motion, 'yin, the female element, is supposed to be dark and mysterious, but my yin is my pure, vanilla angel, the lone light illuminating my opaque path..."

I swallowed hard, feeling the slight sting radiate across my eyes that warned me to stop thinking. I forced myself to blink a few times, clearing my eyes and my mind, and then refocused my attention on the beer before me that was starting to slowly resemble the proper liquid to head ratio. I fingered the outside of the glass softly, allowing for the chill of the drink to mask the real reason for why my hands were shaking. Damn Julia.

I would have been happier to drink at home, especially this weekend, but she would not hear it. She wanted to go out, no, she needed to go out to try to find herself a date for Valentine's, and she felt she needed to take me with her to find one for me as well. Julia felt it was her responsibility to force me into awkward social interactions, as if she could somehow help drink and dance the widow out of me. For how hard she had tried to understand at first, as time dragged on, she refused to accept the fact that mentally, I was not progressing. For her, my state of mind was just a passing phase, an inconvenient illness at best, and with the right social, medicinal combination, I could somehow beat this constant emptiness that I had never before known any part of. I had known pain and loss intimately before I met James, but I had never met the acquaintance of emptiness before him. I know he never meant to be the reason for why that introduction was made...I know he never considered the abrupt ending between us to ever be a plausible one.

Cocksure bastard. I raised my glance from my untouched beer, and caught a glimpse of myself in the wall-sized mirror behind the length of the bar, surprised to find mine was not the only set of eyes staring at the train-wreck sitting smack dab in the middle of the bar because her best friend sat her there. Surprise, like many emotions these days, found it difficult to express itself on my face, and though I was surprised, I sat staring impassively at the strangers sitting together in the mirror.

I swore my eyes were blue before James left on what was to be his final tour; I vaguely remember him commenting on my bright blue eyes shinning excitedly over the idea that when he returned home to me, that he would have no need to return to his militaristic mistress, and that he would finally be all mine for the first time in our marriage. Trick of the light maybe, but my eyes seemed a dull grey in the reflection. I had cut my hair recently to try to give myself a change I thought I needed, but as I focused on the new chin-length style I had already grown to loath, I began to notice more and more of the glistening, silver strands woven with the golden. That, I knew was not the fault of the awful florescent lighting; I had noticed the increased failing pigment during James' previous tour, and I had joked with him about it, telling him that my early thirties was too young for me to start looking like my worry-driven mother.

"Are you friends with the firecracker in the red dress?" The mirrored image of the man sitting next to me asked, and I nodded. Naturally straight, jet black, waist-length hair, deep mocha-tan skin, and a perfectly round ass: of course he was interested in Julia. Most men over looked me when Julia was with me, especially when that care-free party-girl was dancing. "So why aren't you dancing with her?" He gave a smug expression when I shook my head. He turned himself on his chair to face me, and leaned closer to me. "You do speak, don't you?"

"I have a very extensive vocabulary," I remarked in my atypical deadpan voice that I had sadly grown accustomed to hearing, "mostly of colorful and vulgar insults though, I'm afraid."

He laughed. "Looks like I was wrong about which one of you was the firecracker." His voice was light in jest, and yet solidly confident. It has been far too long since I have heard anyone use that tone of voice with me; usually people chose their words carefully, and delivered them in a high, uncomfortable pitch which always suggests how uneasy those people are to be around me.

I turned to look properly at my bar companion, and almost found myself snorting over the appearance of a man in his late forties, maybe early fifties even, trying too hard to look like he does not give a damn anymore. His t-shirt of an irrelevant band was old and worn, as were his jeans and boots, and he emulated a persona that wanted you to believe he was still that bad-ass, bike riding, ass-kicking, mother-fucker he was twenty years ago. He had a long torso, and sitting, he towered over me, but I assumed that standing would produce similar results. He had very broad shoulders, and quite a bit of muscle definition still strained against the fabric of his shirt. There were only minimal strands of deep chestnut brown remaining in his mostly grey hair, though it was kept stylish. Any wrinkles on his face were minimal, not deepened by constant exposure to the elements, and the light stubble left on his face suggested to me that he never went more than a few days without shaving. My first thought had been something along the lines of poser, but now as I studied him closer, I was leaning toward mid-life crisis, and visually scanned his hand for any trace of a ring; there was none, but his clean nails were neatly manicured.

"Like what you see, Misses?" My companion taunted me. "Either that is a very brave man, or a very stupid man that you have, for him to feel comfortable letting you two out of his sight. You ladies together, look like trouble to me." He gave me a wink, followed by a warm smile as my thumb folded under my hand and began to rub against the rings still worn on my right hand. "Isn't that the wrong hand?" He smugly continued to unknowingly torment me. He paused for a moment, but he took my silence as a cue for him to ask another painful question. "So which is hubby: brave or stupid?"

I took a deep breath. "Both," I snapped, "army...killed in action." The words felt like razorblades slicing at the sides of my mouth as they escaped, and my companion seemed to allow for the words to cut across his face just as sharply.

"Fuck." He whispered under his breath. He turned from me to gulp a bit of his own beer before he turned back to me, remorse plaguing his eyes; so much for that could not give a damn attitude. "I'm sorry...I didn't..." he began to stutter "...you look too young for that...I didn't...I don't know what to say...I feel like I should thank you for his service, or something."

"Please don't." I choked, remembering myself holding a folded flag in one arm tightly to my chest, desperately trying to drown out the sounds of a lone trumpet while my niece—too young to understand—held my free hand, kicking at the dirt beside me. I felt myself begin to tremble, but I made a conscious effort to stop my response before anyone else noticed.

"Your girlfriend is trying to make you put yourself back out there then..." My un-wanted companion accurately concluded, taking a deep breath, and allowing for his confidence to return to him. I nodded. "Are you ready for that?" I bit my lower lip and shook my head. "Then if you would allow me to, I would appreciate it if you would let me make it up to you for being such an ass-hat just now. I'm Mike, and if you would like someone to talk to, or just need a scapegoat to point at if your friend starts badgering you about how you should be talking to someone, I'm your guy."

The only reaction I could muster was a solitary nod. "Kayla." I breathed, barely parting my lips enough to force my own name from them.

"Beautiful," Mike gave me one of those confident winks, but I turned back toward my beer, and began to run my fingers up and down the glass once more, "you know your friend is only trying to help, right?"

"Why, did she put you up to this?" I sneered, feeling myself edge to the precipice of telling Julia off.

"No," Mike cleared his throat, "those gorgeous eyes of yours did." I felt as though I had been smacked across the face by each word in turn as he spoke them; bad-boy of yesteryear was actually flirting with me. He paused for a moment, allowing for me to recover, before he continued in a sweetly deep, soft voice. "I'm actually kind of jealous; I would have loved to have someone like your friend, be there for me. I'm not trying to relate to what you're going through, I know I can't, but I did go through a very nasty divorce five years ago. I can tell you from that experience, that just getting out and making yourself available is not only one of the hardest steps toward healing, but that if someone helped you get out there, that you are going to appreciate them more so because they made you do it."

"I don't think that's possible," I found myself cracking a small smile thinking about how Julia and I had met, "she was my roommate throughout most of college, but is really more like a sister to me than anything else." There was no response from Mike, and after a moment I turned to face him once more, confused by his broad, playful smile. "What?"

His cheeks reddened slightly. "I'm just appreciating the glorious sight of a pretty young woman smiling, that's all." He looked almost childish in that moment, and he reminded me of some embarrassed adolescent finally coming clean about a crush. My smile grew for just a second at the thought before the imagined scenario forced me to think of James once more: high-school sweethearts...foolish, and blissfully ignorant.

"So," I took a deep breath and consciously made my voice sound more pleasant than previously heard, "after going though a very nasty divorce, what would you name as the thing that helped you to overcome that loss, the most, Mike?"

Mike's face blushed an even deeper crimson, but his voice remained confident. "Are you sure you really want to know?" He teased me lightly. I almost could have laughed from him teasing me; I forgot what it was like to have someone really mean to tease me. I nodded instead, finding my small smile return to my lips. "An absolutely incredible one-night stand with someone who was practically a stranger." Awestruck at his audacity, I rolled my eyes, and frowned, disbelievingly. "It's true!" Mike exclaimed with a laugh. "But, I understand if that specific form of therapy doesn't sound all that appealing to you. It might just be a guy thing."

Thinking to correct his assumption, I could not stop myself from laughing. "I received the same advice from Julia." Mike laughed with me, and for the first time that evening, I felt calm enough to actually enjoy my beer.

"See?" Mike teased me playfully with a shrug while I sipped lightly at my beverage. "You've heard it now from two different sources; must be true."

Damn it felt good to be able to laugh honestly, and not have to force the response to appease a person desperately trying to make me feel normal again. I selfishly wanted to make Mike keep me laughing for the rest of the evening just so I could remember what a normal conversation was like, but luckily, he had the same idea, and no coaxing on my part was necessary to keep him tossing jokes my way. Mike insisted on buying my next beer for me, to keep me drinking as well as talking, and throwing my inhibitions away from myself for a few hours, I allowed for it. As long as he continued to make me honestly laugh, and feel normal again, I did not really care if I had another beer. I knew what my limits were, and that would not even bring me close.

Julia kept her distance from me while Mike was beside me, but she did send me a picture text message late in the evening of Mike and I laughing together, with his arm around the back of my chair. I had grown to accept the fact that I found Mike attractive, and I smiled at the picture, allowing myself to realize how we looked together. The text message that followed: 'cute bad-boy, take him home,' had me outraged, regardless, and I sent her a scathing reply. It was some time before she texted me back, but when she did, her message caused me to panic: 'left with my own bad-boy, have fun with yours.'

'Worst...friend...ever.' The idea was juvenile, but it was all I could think of in response, and was my immediate written reply.

"Everything okay?" Mike asked, suddenly curious, watching me twist my face over Julia's kissy-faced emoticon response.

"Fine." I lied. Giving up on speaking to Julia, I turned my gaze from my phone to Mike's warm smile, and I wondered for a moment if I really had been lying. Before Julia's text, I had felt fine; better than fine, actually.

"You sure?" He teased me, and I nodded. "Well, Kayla, I don't know about you, but I definitely need to stretch my legs for a bit. What do you say to getting outta here, and walking to someplace...quieter?"

"And just where would you have in mind?" I asked in a slight panic, immediately feeling ashamed of myself for the alarm; young, attractive...single...why should I feel so torn about allowing myself the opportunity to feel normal for a night. I was not naïve; I knew what he was hoping our conversation would eventually lead to, but I wanted to see just how confident my bold companion really was.

Mike shrugged. "There's a nice little late-night frozen yogurt place around the corner." I laughed in shock, and after a moment, Mike joined me.

"Are you being serious?" I managed to giggle. Mike froze for a moment, and then smirked to himself.

"I could be," he breathed, smiling deviously, "unless you're thinking of giving my notion of some naughty therapy a shot, in which case, that nice little frozen yogurt place does happen to be just a few blocks down from my hotel." I swallowed hard, and weighed my options.

"Hotel?" I questioned, curious.

"Yup. I'm only in town for a few days for a business meeting, and home is an eight hour flight that way." He pointed to the far corner of the bar, but I was not sure of the direction. "Tonight could be the most awkward, botched attempt at a good time that you have ever experienced, though I highly doubt that outcome," he winked, "and you would never have to worry about accidently running into me again. I don't think you could find a more proper one-night stand, rebound candidate."

I laughed. "You seem far too complacent with that title, Mike."

"Imma guy," he shrugged, "and you would definitely be worth it."

"Thanks," I breathed unsure of myself, "but I don't..." I could not seem to finish my sentence; my mind just went blank on me as if in protest, refusing to allow the rejection to be spoken.

Mike leaned over me, and gently pressed the side of his face against mine to whisper in my ear. His course stubble brushing against my cheek tickled my skin, and the familiar, yet distant, sensation sent a gentle tremble down my spine. "Only what you want, and only what you're comfortable with." He breathed his words so lightly, I barely heard them. Mike reached over me, and gently placed his hand on the top of my knee closest to him. Such a modest gesture woke a deep repressed need in me, and my head swam while my body screamed out for me to accept his offer, but my mind continued to refuse to provide any answers for me. "I understand, Kayla." Mike whispered in defeat, and slowly withdrew his face from mine in retreat.

My emotions fluctuated dangerously between embarrassment, lust, and a deep melancholy remorse, but I could not determine a lone root cause for why I would feel that way. I felt like I had somehow led Mike on, even though I had not meant to. Part of me wanted to feel...anything really, and Mike was the first to genuinely make me feel something. Perhaps, he would be able to make me feel passion too if I let him try; even if it was only for one night. When I thought I had settled on my answer, I felt as though to go through with it, would mean to somehow cheat on James.

Mike cleared his throat, but when he tried to lift his hand from my knee, one of my hands quickly moved to clasp his hand back down against my leg. Without being able to produce a cohesive line of thought, my hand had moved independently of my mind in a reflex to assure me that this was exactly what I needed. I had to force myself to meet Mike's gaze, but I was glad to see a warm smile on his face, and not a mimicked look of blatant confusion which I was sure was displayed across my own.

"How about we get some air," Mike suggested in his confident, deep voice, "and just start walking? I'll leave it completely up to you to tell me where you would like that walk to end."

There was such warmth and kindness found in Mike's voice, that I found it easy to slide myself off my chair, and grab my things without any further protest. I was surprised at myself to not hear any nagging questions, or dismissive comments in my mind while we walked. I could not force myself to think; just act. Mike continued our light, joking conversation as we walked, but I would only nod from time to time until he stopped me just before we reached the store front of a local frozen yogurt establishment he had mentioned. I looked into the window of the little shop filled with shy, laughing college students on pre-Valentine's dates, and took a deep breath, but as I turned back to face Mike, he surprised me with a very soft, passionate kiss.

I was in shock for only a moment before instinct took over. I was exceptionally glad my mind had stayed so hopelessly blank now; there were no second thoughts, or double guessing my actions as I allowed myself to lean into Mike, and kiss him back. An odd sensation felt--like the feeling of a weight being dropped in my stomach--did not stop me, but instead made me desperate for Mike's touch. The weight only reminded me of the immense emptiness I had been feeling earlier this evening, and I needed to do something to fill it. When we parted, I ran my tongue across the corner of my upper lip, and almost giggled at the taste of a strange man's mouth that I found there.

"Well?" Mike beamed, delighted to see the wicked smile growing on my face. "Are we stopping, or continuing?" His playful tone, and musty, sweet smell teased my senses while his stubble gently tickled the soft, skin of my cheek when he leaned into me once more to whisper in my ear.

"Continuing." I whispered back to him. Mike turned his face and gently left a quick kiss against my cheek before he stepped back from me, and extended a bent arm to me. I smirked, beside myself, at the charming gesture produced by the 'bad-boy' standing beside me, but I hurriedly moved to place one of my arms in his before he could take offence to my reaction. We walked that way, arm-in-arm, all the way to his hotel room, only breaking from our embrace so that Mike could locate his cardkey and open the door.

Mike reached into the doorway to turn on a light, and then allowed me to enter the first room before him so that I could cautiously review my new surroundings. I walked though the hallway from the door to discover a kitchen-ette-dining space that led to a very spacious living room. There were several closed doors that led off from the living-room, and imagining that one of them must lead to the bedroom, my heart began to race. Starting to feel myself over-heat in panic, I removed my jacket, and tossed my things into one of the dinning chairs. "I think this must be larger than my first apartment." I tried for a joke to calm myself, looking about the space, and moving to stand beside the island counter in the kitchen area. Mike laughed while he closed the door behind us, and casually filled the gap between us.