One Little Question

I started towards the bar, but before I got even three steps closer, some unknown force made my feet turn towards the table. Probably some fucking Christmas ghost that was trying to earn its wings by making me teach other men how to ring their woman's bell.

It could've been that I was feeling kind of guilty for inappropriately insinuating I'd eat out his girlfriend if he didn't have the balls to do it when he was clearly upset about us calling him out for not having the balls to do it.

But it was probably the goddamn piece-of-shit ghosts.

Resigned to my fate to be the Jacob Marley to the poor little Scrooge McFucker sitting at that table, his face solemn and lost as he stared into his pint glass, I sighed and pulled out the chair across from him. It was only as I sat down that he finally looked up and noticed me.

And he groaned.

"Seriously? What are you doing here?" Seth asked.

"Good to see you, too, dude," I said, shrugging my wool peacoat off. "And what do you mean, what am I doing here? You knew I was going to be here. I invited you for a drink with me and Benny and Rob after work."

"That was hours ago," he said, his voice flat. "I would've thought you'd already left."

"Well, I came back."

He made an unimpressed noise. "Look, no offense, but you're the last fucking person I want to see right now. Can you just pretend you didn't notice me and just go do whatever drew you back to this shithole?"

"Seth, baby, if I could, I would," I said. "But something tells me the Ghost of Not Being Able To Make Your Girlfriend Come has drawn me here to provide you aid this very eve."

"Fuck you," he said.

"Flattered," I said. "Especially coming from a verifiably handsome dude like yourself. Alas, I'm not into people currently invested in long-term relationships, so no, but thank you."

"No, I meant—" He sighed and rolled his eyes. "I can make my girlfriend come just fine, thank you."

"Not with your mouth."

"I am so sick of this goddamn conversation," he muttered.

"As am I, especially since I'd like to take care of my own needs tonight at some point," I said. "So let's get to the bottom of this quickly."

"Bottom of what?" he replied. "No one asked you to help me get to the bottom of anything."

"Well, someone has to," I said. "You're sitting in a bar by yourself on a Saturday when you have a perfectly good woman at home to enjoy the company of."

"We don't live together."

"Semantics, Sethly Setherson. You know what I mean."

He tilted his head back, closing his eyes briefly in an attempt to quash what I assumed was annoyance for me. But after looking back at me and opening his mouth, nothing came. Instead, he hesitated, then took a deep breath and let it out.

"Laura and I kinda had a fight," he said.

"Because you don't eat pussy?"

"Will you drop the pussy-eating thing?" he asked, a little louder than was strictly necessary. "That's... I mean, yes, that's part of it, but it's not... the whole thing."

"But it's why you're upset."

"It... maybe." He sighed. "I wasn't going to say shit about it but I couldn't fucking stop thinking about that goddamn question after I got home. So after I showered and ate dinner, I texted Laura."

I winced. "Ooh. Text fights. Never a good strategy."

He looked at me, unimpressed. "I just asked her how the cookie exchange was at first. If she had fun and how the cookies were and to save some for me, you know? And it was fine. Then I asked her about the question. Just a general, you know, 'what brought that on' sort of thing."

"Alright," I said, nodding supportively. "Alright, alright, alright. No screwups yet."

He glared at me. "So she tells me, and we're kind of texting back and forth about how crazy it was to talk about that with a bunch of women she barely knew, and then I... I asked her."

"Asked her what?"

"If it bothered her that I don't go down on her." He twisted his pint glass in his hand. "It took her a while to text back. Like, normally Laura responds right away. And I could see that she'd read the message. Finally she texts back and she's like, 'I don't want you to feel like you have to do things you don't like just for my pleasure.'"

I let out a low whistle. "Oh, boy. She was trying real hard not to hurt your wee little feelings. So she does want you to go down on her."

"She said she's into it but that she respects that I'm not." He stared at his beer, then took a sip. "And yeah, it upset me that she didn't... I mean, I thought it wasn't a big deal and now I'm finding out it is. Like, I'm sitting there wondering if she thinks I'm selfish because—" He stopped and sighed again, the sound agitated. "I don't ask her to go down on me. She does and obviously I like it, but it's not like I'm asking 'cause I know that's not fair. She said she does it because she likes doing it. But what if she thinks I think eating pussy isn't 'manly' or whatever? Which I don't... or, well... Like, it has nothing to do with manliness or anything, but knowing she might think of me like that is..."

"I mean, I get it, but that's a little, uh..." I twisted my wrist in the air as I tried to think of a nice way to put it, then failed. "... oversensitive-egotistical-crybaby of you."

He opened his mouth, disagreement written across his face, then just sighed and shook his head. "You don't need to point out that I'm a fucking moron. I texted her back and she didn't reply right away, and when she did, it was in her teacher voice."

"I thought you were texting."

"Well, yeah, but you can tell," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "She gets all diplomatic and proper. Like—" His voice went high and bitter as he mocked Laura's voice. "'I can see we're both reacting strongly to this situation right now and we each have feelings that are very valid, Seth. Perhaps this isn't a conversation that's best suited for text messages.' So I said fine, I'd talk to her some other time, and then I decided I needed a beer and came here."

"You know she's right."

"Of course I know she's right!" The anger in his voice didn't match the look on his face, which was something almost remorseful. "I'm just... I got defensive. Because I thought she'd be mad. But Laura's not like that. She's sweet and understanding about shit like this."

"So why don't you just have an actual conversation with her about why you don't want to do that for her?"

"Because she... she wouldn't actually understand."

His voice was serious enough that I didn't make fun of him. His words came out in that sad, dejected sort of tone that wasn't just mopey or dramatic, but legitimately unhappy in a hopeless sort of way.

"Look, buddy," I said. "This fight isn't going to end your relationship. What you need to do is finish that beer, then sit down and have a good, long think about why you can't tell your very smart, very sweet, very mature and understanding girlfriend about whatever is causing this aversion to pleasuring her with your mouth. Then, once you've gathered those thoughts up, you know what you do?"

"What?" he asked.

"Really, Seth baby?" I asked.

"Let me guess," he said. "I should just be a man, suck it up, and go down on her?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "God, why is everyone so stupid?" Straightening up, I leaned forward. "Seth. You go talk to her. And don't forget to apologize."

"Oh," he said. "I mean, yeah. I know."

I sipped my water, then set the glass down on the table firmly. "Bud, I'm not gonna pretend I understand why you won't do it for her. You're talking to the wrong person for that part of it because frankly, I came back here for the sole purpose of trying to find someone I can practice my tongue twisters on. Personally, I think it's an experience every guy should indulge in. But if you can't see that you're missing out on—"

"You all seem so fucking sure that it's because I don't want to," Seth interrupted.

I stopped, mouth still half-open.

The man had a point. I had very much assumed that it was because he didn't want to. Mostly because I couldn't think of a reason that he wouldn't do it otherwise.

But I could be wrong. That was an unlikely, but not impossible, option. And if I was wrong, that made me even more of a dickhead for what I'd said earlier. No wonder he hadn't wanted to see me.

"Alright, that's fair," I said. "So I don't know if it's a confidence thing or a physical thing or what, but regardless, Laura's opinion is the only one that matters."

He sighed, then lifted the pint glass to his mouth and drank the last of it before setting it down. "You're right."

"Oh, God," I fake-moaned. "Say that again. It really does it for me."

"Fuck you, Adrian," he muttered, twisting in his chair to flag down the server.

"Normally I'd let you buy me a drink first," I said as I stood. "But this time it's on me."

"Huh?"

"I'll get your tab. Mea culpa for earlier today. Go home and call your girl."

"Oh. Uh... thanks. That's nice of you."

"Yeah, I know. Don't tell anyone about it or they'll think I'm getting soft." I clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Good luck and see ya tomorrow, man."

There. I'd done my good deeds for the day. Hopefully, karma would notice and swing things in my favour when it came to the hot-from-the-back woman who was still sitting at the bar with two empty bar stools on either side of her.

As Seth headed out, I went up to the bar. The bartender was the same as the guy who had been there earlier: a tall, Latino guy with short hair and thick eyebrows that were currently furrowed as he noticed Seth leaving.

"He's not drink-and-dashing," I said as the bartender put down the glass he'd been wiping and started towards the exit.

"'Scuse me?" the bartender said.

I slid onto one of the bar stools, leaving an empty one between me and the woman in black, not looking at her. "He's a buddy of mine. Had a rough day, you know? A fight with the old lady. I was just reminding him how good he has it and how that amazing woman deserves the best of the best. He wanted to make it up to her as quick as possible, so I said I'd cover him this time."

The bartender glanced at the door, then at me and shrugged. "If you say so, man. I'll add you to the same tab."

"You're a gem, my friend." I leaned on the bar, then turned my head casually towards the woman I'd been eyeing. "What are you drinking?"

She looked at me, raising her eyebrows as I took in my first look at her from the front.

The good news was she was even hotter from that angle. I didn't recognize her from anywhere, which wasn't unusual; Southbush might be a small town, but it wasn't like everyone knew everyone. A green bejewelled clip swept the aforementioned long, black hair off her pale pinkish-white face and she had large, round, hazel eyes. She wore red lipstick and the black outfit that had looked so elegant from the back was even better from the front: a black blazer overtop of some kind of lacy black top tucked into fitted dress pants.

"Me?" she asked.

"Uh-huh." I tilted my chin towards the rocks glass in her hand. "What's that?"

"I don't need another one," she said.

I shot her a smile and shook my head. "I mean, I'd be happy to get you one, but I meant for me."

That seemed to catch her off guard. "What?"

I shrugged. "I don't know what I'm in the mood for. So what're you drinking?"

"Oh," she said, glancing down at her glass. "It's, um, an old fashioned."

"Oooh." I didn't even need to fake the low, soft groan of appreciation that came out of my mouth. "Yeah, that's one-hundred percent what I'm in the mood for." I glanced at the bartender, who had a cautious look on his face. "One of those, please."

"You got it, man," the bartender said.

As he turned to grab a glass, I smiled at the woman. "Great suggestion. Thank you."

"No problem," she replied.

And then I ignored her.

It wasn't like it was some kind of game. Not really. Like, I guess one could argue that it could be a bit of a game, but that was only if I was doing it for nefarious reasons, which I wasn't. So it wasn't until the bartender set my drink in front of me and walked away to take an order from someone sitting at the other end of the bar that we spoke again.

"Does this usually work for you?" she asked.

I took a sip of the drink and savoured the smooth burn of the bourbon before looking at her. "Does what usually work?"

"The 'I'm a nice guy who's just innocently asking you for a drink recommendation and am totally not hitting on you' schtick."

I laughed and shrugged. "I mean, I guess, if by 'schtick' you mean I was legitimately asking you for a drink recommendation."

"Right. So you weren't hitting on me?"

"Not that you're not completely worthy of hitting on, but no, I wasn't."

Her lips parted, then she glanced down. "Oh."

I glanced at the bartender, who was still busy at the other end of the bar, then leaned towards the woman, though the empty stool between us kept a respectable gap.

"I was gauging if you were interested in chatting with some random stranger," I said, lowering my voice a bit. "Which could have very, very easily turned into me hitting on you. When you said you didn't need another drink, I assumed you weren't into it, and I didn't want to ruin your night by not taking the hint. But I am more than happy to be told I'm wrong."

She held my gaze for a moment, silently assessing me. Then, she pressed her lips together and twisted on the stool so she could hold out her right hand to me.

"I'm Olivia," she said.

I put my glass down and shook her hand. "Adrian. At the risk of sounding like I learned how to talk to women from a 1960s magazine that I definitely only read for the articles, what's a gal like you doing in a place like this all by yourself?"

Her red-painted lips twisted, trying to hold in a smile. "A 'gal like me'? What's that supposed to mean?"

I picked up my drink, leaning on the bar as I took a sip. "Well, it's a Saturday night just before Christmas. You're all dressed up, but here on your own. Could be that you're here for a mundane reason, like being stood up by some asshole who doesn't know what's good for him. Or..." I trailed off, then shrugged. "Something far less traumatic than that."

She laughed. "Well, I don't know about less traumatic, but I didn't get stood up. I thought I'd stop by for a drink on my way home from work."

"Rough day?"

"I work at the mall."

"That explains the trauma."

She shrugged. "It could be worse. I work at Lacy Pleasures."

I had no idea what that was, but nodded like I did, which didn't fool her.

"The lingerie store," she said.

"Oh," I replied. "Yeah, I can see that being a little stressful the week before Christmas."

She nodded. "Not as bad as some places, but we get our share. Most our gift-seekers at this time of year are panicked husbands who don't know what size their wife actually is, but assume we can figure it out by them gesturing with their hands as they try to describe what it feels like."

"Yikes. You sure you don't want that second drink? Maybe a third?"

She laughed and shook her head. "I just need the one to decompress. After my sister stopped by and—" She cut herself off, her cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink as she glanced around quickly, then leaned closer towards me. "She bought herself her very first set of lingerie."

"That's..." I started, then shook my head. "I have no idea how to respond to that."

"What's your instinct?" she asked.

I shrugged helplessly. "Nice of you to help her, maybe? Either that or weird, I guess, that she bought her first set of lingerie from her sister. But also, I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be picturing your sister in lingerie."

"How would you... You don't even know my sister."

"In my imagination, you're twins."

Olivia's laugh was loud enough that the bartender glanced over. "Think you're pretty good, do you?"

"I think I'm very good," I said. "But when I'm bad, I'm better."

"You're really into the whole vintage pop culture, aren't you?"

"Mae West always has been and always will be an absolute goddess."

She rolled her eyes, but that smile didn't leave her lips. "Well, it was a bit weird, but not that weird. Just odd to feel like my little sister is growing up."

"How old is she?"

"Twenty-seven."

I burst out laughing. "I mean... yeah. I'd say she's grown up."

"Yeah, but if she's grown up and I'm her older sister, that means I'm grown up," Olivia said, then took a dramatic sip of her drink. "And I can't possibly be a grown up. I'm too young."

"You're what, twenty-two?" I asked.

"Flattery gets you nowhere," she replied. "I just said I was older than she was."

I held my hand up in surrender. "Fine, fine. I aimed a bit under. You're clearly twenty-two and a half. But you don't look a day over twenty-five."

Flattery did appear to get me somewhere when she laughed again.

"Anyway, it was great to see Phoebe with her friends and all, but spending all that time off the floor put me behind and apparently, every granny in Southbush wanted to come in today for her BBB."

"BBB?"

"Basic Beige Bra." Olivia sighed and sipped her drink. "You'd be surprised how picky they get about something that is literally basic and beige. And then this woman tried on a lingerie set from one of our new designers and it was just horribly constructed. I felt so bad. We try to only bring in designers who have inclusive sizes but this was just—" She stopped and shook her head. "She was so nice about it, but agh. I felt terrible. Between that and the guy who yelled at me for telling him there was no way his wife was a 36C if most of her t-shirts were an extra-small, then the lineup of people who didn't seem to understand that 'closing time' does not mean 'grab yet another bra to bring into the fitting room time,' I figured I deserve a drink. And since my roommate isn't home, I decided to do it here so I didn't feel like I was drinking by myself. Plus—" She sipped her drink again. "—Miguel makes a far better old fashioned than I do."

I mirrored her action, swirling the bourbon in my mouth. "That he does. This is great."

"The secret ingredient is maple syrup." She tilted her glass towards me. "Instead of simple syrup. Don't tell him I told you."

I mimed zipping my lips shut.

"So what about you?" she asked.

"What about me?" I replied.

"What's a guy like you doing in a nice place like this?"

I chuckled. "Just stopped in for a drink."

"Really?"

"Of course."

She shook her head. "Liar."

I tried to look affronted, but I was laughing too hard. "Why would you say I'm a liar?"

She pursed her lips, her eyes sparkling as she crossed one leg over the other. "Come on. Give me some credit here."

I glanced at the bartender, then looked back at her.

"You really want to know?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "'Cause this is either gonna get me slapped or it's totally going to work."

"Now I'm even more intrigued."

I took another sip of my drink, then set it down on the bar.

"Okay," I said, still looking down at my drink. "Here's the thing." I looked up at Olivia, catching her eye. "You ever have a major craving that you just can't get past? One of those things that you're thinking about all day and no matter what you do, you can't stop thinking about it? And you know the only thing that'll make that craving go away is getting that specific thing?"

"I suppose," she said suspiciously, keeping her voice as quiet as mine. "What is it you're craving so specifically?"

Raking my teeth over my bottom lip, I glanced down at her mouth, then back up at her eyes. "I've been dying to eat pussy all fucking day."

I think Olivia thought she knew what I was going to say; that is, a lot of fancy words to tell her I was horny and wanted to get laid. But she didn't seem to expect that response. Her eyes widened and she blinked, her lips parting in surprise.