Pregnant + Teddy Bear

Please note: The narrator in this story expresses her contempt for a certain type of man, a wannabe hero who sticks his nose in her business. She knows not all men are like that, but if it will upset you to read this story, please click the back button. If you do decide to stay and read it, please enjoy and take any expressed opinions with a grain of salt.

I don't know why I'm sitting here. I could be nursing this same slowly-growing-lukewarm drink, for a fraction of the price, on my couch at home, in my comfy pjs, rewatching one of my favorite shows on Netflix. Instead, I'm all dressed up, sitting on this debatably comfortable stool, wincing at the noise level in the room, and trying to ignore the game of sportsball that is playing loudly on the TV.

But being at home would also mean a lack of heroes, those true saviors of humanity. Oh what would I ever do without them?

And right on cue, like he heard my thoughts, here comes another one. Backed by his posse, armed with a cheap beer ― definitely not his first, given the slight wobble as he walks ― he approaches. He stops, standing too close to me, and even though he's to my right and slightly behind me, I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he begins to speak.

"Hey, lady."

I stare forward, ignoring him, hoping that unlike the other two tonight, this one will just walk away when I don't respond. But I know it's pointless, because someone like me is a magnet to someone like him. He just can't resist it.

"Lady, I'm talking to you."

He takes another step closer, and now he's practically standing on top of me. I hear a shuffle, which is likely his buddies ― who are presumably slightly less drunk than he is, but were still unable to talk him out of this ― moving forward to make sure he doesn't do anything regrettable. But he's already past that point. He's made up his mind to do this, and there's no going back.

The hero's hand darts out and pulls my shoulder, his grubby fingers pulling slightly on my braided brown hair. His buddies grab him and pull him back, but not before the stool I'm sitting on swivels toward him. Traitorous stool.

"So it's true," he slurs, before taking another swig from his bottle. He points to my midsection. "What the other guys said. It's true."

I reach out to grasp the edge of the bar and spin myself back around. Dex, the bartender meets my eye from the other end of the bar and motions with her head toward the bouncer at the door. I shake my head in return. I don't need more drunk men getting angry at me tonight. Or angrier I guess.

There's a quick scuffle behind me, and I'm guessing that the hero tried to reach out for me again but his buddies latched onto him fast enough this time. After another minute, there's a slight squeak and he appears on the stool next to me. I roll my eyes, and get ready for Level 2.

"You shouldn't be drinking," the hero says.

"Neither should you," I mutter.

He sits up straight. "What did you say?"

When I don't answer, he returns to his mission. "You shouldn't be drinking. It's not your life to ruin."

This is a new line, one I haven't heard before. I can't help myself, and I smile slightly. I'll give him points for originality, even if he's losing on creativity.

"Why. The. Hell. are you smiling?" he demands. I hear his breathing begin to get deeper, faster. One of his buddies reaches out toward him, but he swats his hand away. "You think this is funny?"

He shoves his beer bottle toward my glass, knocking it over, spilling the liquid all over the counter. "You think this is funny?" he roars, getting up in my face. His friends pull him back, but they struggle to contain him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the huge, hulking bouncer approaching. Dex passes me some napkins, and I wipe the slowly spreading puddle before it could drip over the edge of the bar.

There's another scuffle as the hero's friends transfer him over to the bouncer, who bends the hero's arms back without much gentleness. As the hero yelps, the bouncer begins strong-arming him with ease toward the door. I turn and glare at his friends, who are still standing near me. They look at each other, then turn and follow the bouncer and their friend.

"Tiny, hold up," I call out, grabbing a wad of soaked napkins off the bar and walking toward the bouncer. He pauses, and I walk around the group, landing myself face to face with the would-be hero.

"It's Pepsi, you dickwad," I say, my face showing my disgust as I jam the soaked napkins into his mouth, the sticky drink dripping down my fingers and his chin. "I would never, never do anything to harm―" I stop. I'd forgotten I don't need to explain myself to him. Forgotten that what I do with my body is none of his business.

I give him one more look of disdain, then nod to Tiny. The scorned not-a-hero spits the napkins out of his mouth in my direction, but I'm already on my way back to my spot at the bar, actively scrubbing him from my memory.

By the time I return to my stool, Dex has already located a rag and wiped the rest of the sticky soda off the bar, and she's pouring me another cup of soda, the ice cubes in the glass crackling as the carbonated liquid hits them.

She turns around and wets a paper towel at the sink, then passes it to me. She runs her hand through her short, electric blue hair, and leans her elbows on the bar, chin in her hands. I wipe the remnants of the sticky soda from my hands and I nod my thanks, and she nods back.

"So that dude was an asshole," she says grimacing.

I shrug and take a sip of my fresh, cold drink. "What dude?" I smirk. Dex smiles widely, but her smile drops almost immediately, and I could read the other emotions in her eyes.

Another patron calls to her, and she turns to tend bar, but not before placing her hand on mine and looking into my eyes, conveying all those feelings.

I sigh softly, thinking about our history, but my musing is interrupted by a squeak to the left of me. I sigh again and roll my eyes, gearing up for Round Four. I'm thinking maybe it's time to call it a night. Not that I can't keep doing this, but I don't know if my eyes can take all the rolling.

I turn to the guy next to me, and hoping to preempt any heroic antics, I drone, "Yes, I'm pregnant. Yes, I'm in a bar. No, I'm not drinking alcohol."

The guy's eyebrows fly up, and I can tell instantly that I read the situation wrong. He wasn't about to try to save my future baby from my terrible choices. He was just here to have a drink. And my big mouth and I just made things very awkward.

Of course, I then proceed to make things much more awkward.

"Sorry, I don't know why I said that. I mean, I know why. But I shouldn't have. That was so awkward. And I'm making this more awkward. Oh my gosh, shut me up please."

The guy smiles, but he still looks confused. Then realization dawns on his face. He points toward the door, where Tiny has returned to his post, having dumped the other guy out of the bar. "Is that what that was?"

I groan. "I guess you saw what happened?"

He shakes his head quickly. "No, I didn't. I was about to walk in when the bouncer ― Tiny?" I nod "― shoved some drunk dude outside. He was blocking the door so I had to wait while he yelled at the dude to go look up the meaning of 'mind your effing business' in the dictionary."

I snort, picturing the scene. "Yeah, that sounds like something Tiny would say." Despite his enormous frame and his at-times-physical job, Tiny is the sweetest guy ever. Like Terry Crews and The Rock combined, in size and in niceness. And he won't use actual curse words because he's terrified of his Tutu and what she'd do to him if she found out he was uttering profanity. But it's supposed to be a secret that he's afraid of his 4 foot 9 grandmother, so I kept that to myself.

The guy orders a whiskey neat from Dex, then turns back to me. "So what―" he gestures toward Tiny and back to me. I'm confused for a second, then I realize what he's asking.

"He was very offended by me being in a bar, being pregnant and all. He told me it's not my life to ruin."

The guy's eyes widen. "Oh wow. Wow. That's..."

"Yep." I take a drink of my soda and wipe the condensation from the glass onto one of the napkins leftover from the cleanup.

"And now it makes sense why Tiny told him to mind his own business."

I smile, because the guy looks genuinely proud of himself for figuring that out. I was beginning to lose hope in men, as a whole, but this guy seems decent enough.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he says, reaching out his hand, confirming my first impression of him. "I'm Jeremy."

I shake his hand, smiling again because he truly does look apologetic. "I'm Alex."

"Nice to meet you Alex," Jeremy says, matching my smile.

Jeremy's drink arrives, and we both turn back to the bar and to our drinks, and there's silence for a short while. It's not exactly an awkward silence, but I am itching for him to continue talking. Or at least to turn back to face me. I usually fall for model-hot assholes, and this guy is a bit too chubby and scruffy to be the former and far too nice (so far) to be the latter, but I'm not going to lie, his smiling eyes are starting to do things for me. Apparently I have a thing for squinty smiling eyes. Who knew?

After what feels like forever, I turn to him, but he turns at the exact same second, and we both say "So..." in concert. We laugh, and his hearty laugh flips my stomach. What am I, a preteen again?

I defer to him, and he asks, "So what brings you to this bar then? I mean, if you're not drinking drinking."

It's a good question, and I've wondered it myself, especially after repeatedly being accosted by drunk wannabe heroes. But I know the real reason, and something compels me to be honest to this total stranger.

"Honestly, it's to combat the loneliness." After that awkward pronouncement, I take another sip of my soda, then pretend to be very interested in the bubbles and ice in the glass.

I could feel how uncomfortable I just made him, and I want to apologize, but honestly it feels kind of good to be the one to make someone else squirm. But only a little bit. It mostly feels rotten. So I turn back to him and start to apologize, but stop when I see the sadness in his eyes.

Something tells me that the sadness is not for him, it's for me. And I'm not cool with that. "No. No," I say, pointing my finger indignantly. "You don't get to do that."

"Do what?"

"Be sad for me."

For a second, I think I read the situation all wrong again, and I'm readying myself to stuff my foot in my mouth. But then he laughs a short, uncomfortable laugh and says, "Was it that obvious?"

I shrug. "I'm kind of good at reading people. It helps with my job."

Jeremy's sadness lifts and I see the curiosity in his face as he asks, "What's your job?"

"I'm a writer. And I write at home, hence the lonely thing."

He nods in understanding. "So you come out here to get your peopling in." I nod. This guy gets it. "And it's worth it to stay even when that guy attacks you?"

I snort. "It's not like he was the first one."

Jeremy looks at me, horrified. "He wasn't??"

I shake my head slowly. "He was the third. Today."

His jaw drops, but he reigns it in to ask, "Third today? Does that mean it's happened other times?"

Oh sweet summer child. If only he knew. I shrug, noncommittally, and Jeremy takes it as a yes.

"Shit. Shit. I'm sorry, Alex."

"Why are you sorry?"

"On behalf of all the douchebags out there. All the assholes who've accosted you. I promise, not all g―" He stops, probably sensing that what he was about to say was The Number One wrong thing to say. And he's right. I probably would have thrown my drink at him if he'd continued and said what I suspect he was about to say. But the self-awareness that he just demonstrated racked up a whole bunch of more points for him.

Before I could thank him for not continuing, Dex ― whose bullshit meter is hypersensitive but usually pretty accurate ― comes up behind Jeremy. Not wanting to ruin what I think we have going, I flash a subtle thumbs up. She nods and backs away quietly. Thankfully, Jeremy doesn't realize what happened, and before the delay gets too awkward, I thank him.

Jeremy smirks slightly and asks, "Why are you thanking me?" Touché.

"Uh thank you for not being an asshole, I guess? And for not continuing and saying what I think you were about to say."

He chuckles. "Yeah, I sensed it wasn't exactly the best thing to say just then." He looks at me pointedly. "You would have thrown your drink at me, wouldn't you?"

I smile sheepishly. "Guilty as charged."

"I'd have deserved it though."

"I can't disagree."

Jeremy turns and drinks the last of his drink, then turns back to me. I could sense he's nervous, but I don't know why. That banter was starting to awaken my cold, jaded heart.

"Any chance you'd― would you― do―" Jeremy wipes his hands on his rumpled khakis and swallows. I try to give off a kind, patient demeanor, but my resting annoyed face ― especially in this noisy, sensory-overstimulating bar ― isn't helping things.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he blurts out, then immediately reddens. "I mean, do you want to take a walk or something?"

"Smooth recovery," I say, smiling. Jeremy smiles slightly, but it doesn't reach his light brown eyes. I have to repair this somehow ― for some reason, I'm finding myself very invested.

"Yeah, sure. Let's go." I reach into my pocket and pull out a couple bills, slide Jeremy's empty glass next to mine, and slip the money under the napkins that my glass is resting on. I inhale a barely audible whistle and Dex looks my way from the other end of the bar. I wave and point down toward my cup, and she nods slightly.

I stand up, waiting for Jeremy to follow, but he's digging in his pockets, looking for something. He finally finds what he's looking for, and pulls out his wallet.

"Dude, it's covered." I point to the money under my glass.

"Why though?" He looks bewildered, like he's totally clueless as to why I'd pay for his drink.

I shrug, realizing as I do so that I shrugged a lot tonight, more than usual. "For not being an asshole, I guess?"

Jeremy stands there for a minute or so, clearly fighting with the forces of chivalry and progressiveness inside him. Progressiveness wins, and he sighs and puts his wallet back in his pocket, then stands up.

I resist the urge to compliment him on his choice and lead the way toward the door. Tiny opens the door for me, and I step out, but Jeremy doesn't follow. I turn around and see Tiny's enormous forearm blocking Jeremy from exiting.

"You say or do anything to hurt her, and I snap your neck. Am I clear, bruh?"

I step forward and put my hand on Tiny's arm just as Jeremy nods in agreement, his face pale.

Tiny lowers his arm and smiles genuinely. "Okay then, have fun kids."

Jeremy averts his eyes and slips past Tiny, squeezing against the wall, staying as far away from him as possible. I can't tell if he's being overdramatic or if he's genuinely terrified of Tiny ― not that I'd blame him if he were. Tiny's huge.

I loop my arm around Jeremy's and half drag him up the block. When we're safely out of hearing distance, I stop and apologize.

"I'm so so sorry for that. Tiny tends to be a bit... overprotective."

"So I see," Jeremy says, bent over, hands on his knees, gulping in air.

"Are you― are you all right?" I know Tiny can be intimidating, but this is a pretty strong reaction.

"I will be. In a minute. I think," Jeremy says between rapid breaths.

I look around and spot a bus stop shelter and bench a few storefronts away. "Hey come on, come sit down." I pull him to the bench, and we both sit down, Jeremy still hyperventilating, and me wondering what the hell happened.

He's still having trouble breathing a minute later, and I'm starting to get worried. "Is there― can I do anything to help?" Jeremy shakes his head. "Can I get you water maybe?" He nods, but puts his arm on mine when I start to get up.

"Don't go," he gasps.

I look around and sit down again, not sure how I can get him water if he needs me to stay with him. Then I have an idea. I pull out my phone and send a quick text. A minute later, Dex comes running toward us, two water bottles and a stack of napkins in her hands.

"I'll be right back," I say to Jeremy, and meet Dex in the middle of the quiet street, making sure to stay in Jeremy's line of sight.

"Everything okay?" Dex asks, concerned, as she passes the water bottles to me.

"Yeah, we're good," I say, then repeat it loudly enough for Jeremy to hear. Dex meets my eyes then nods in understanding.

"Stay safe" she whispers.

I peck her on the cheek in reply, then watch as she jogs back to the bar. I turn and head back to the bench where Jeremy is still hyperventilating, and hand him one of the bottles.

He struggles to open it, so I take it back, unscrew the cap, and hand it back to him. He spills slightly while bringing it to his mouth, but takes a small sip, then gulps down half the bottle. Then he times his breathing using sips, which is such a brilliant thing to do that I make a mental note of it, to maybe use for one of my characters.

By the time the bottle is finished, Jeremy's successfully slowed down his breathing. He's no longer hyperventilating, but he looks utterly mortified. I'm not sure if I should address it or pretend it didn't happen. While I'm thinking about it, I pass him a napkin. He dabs at the wet spot on his sweater, but the water's already soaked into the fabric, and all he ends up doing is rubbing tiny bits of napkin onto the material.

I take the napkin from him, then get up and toss it in the garbage that's next to the bus stop shelter. When I return to the bench, Jeremy's leaning his elbows on his knees, his face resting in his hands. I place my hand gently on his back and he groans.

"Great first impression I just made," he says, his voice slightly muffled.

"I mean, the bar was set pretty low tonight, considering the other guys I had interactions with, so you're fine."

Jeremy groans again, but sits up straight. "That's not really much of a compliment, you know."

I smile. "Fair point. But trust me, you're good." I stand up and reach out my hand. "Come on, let's walk."

Jeremy sighs and looks up at me pitifully but then stands up. We walk in silence for a few minutes until we reach the boardwalk.

"Should we go up?" I ask, eyeing the busy walkway, half hoping he'll say no.

Thankfully, he comes through with "I'd rather walk on the sand, if that's okay with you."

I peek surreptitiously between the boardwalk pylons, and although the shore is not nearly as bustling as the boardwalk, it's still populated enough that I wouldn't feel nervous to walk with Jeremy, basically a stranger, at night.

"Sure," I say, taking his hand and squeezing slightly. We walk to the left a bit, where the sand dips down underneath the boardwalk so there's space for us to walk through without having to crouch down. Jeremy still has to duck slightly so he won't bang his head, but it's just for a few feet.

When we emerge on the other side of the boardwalk, I notice that there's a dusting of sand on his dark brown hair and left shoulder. I let go of his hand and stand on tiptoes so I could reach the top of his head. Sand rains down between us, and I move my hand down to his shoulder to wipe off the remaining sand, my fingers tingling as they make contact with his broad shoulder. I catch a glimpse of his face when I reach out to take his hand again, and I'm surprised to see that he's blushing.

Could he be... is he feeling what I'm feeling?

More importantly, why am I feeling what I'm feeling? Is it because Jeremy is the first guy I've interacted with in months who isn't a complete douchebag? Or is there really something there? Something I'm sensing between us?