Three Strikes Ch. 11

"Pre-drinking shot. You're too toxic right now, relax."

"No joke! I've been angry all evening just being around you. It's gross," Allé let out a full body shudder, the same one I had when I tried to pull my old box from the attic.

I took two shots and still felt nothing by the time we arrived at the bar/club. My toxic energy must have killed all the alcohol content. I still felt just as hurt and angry as I did when I left the ballpark.

There were quite a few people there by the time we arrived but I didn't see Shane, which was a relief and a disappointment. The feeling of disappointment only fueled my inner fire.

"Where's Shane and what crawled up his ass and died?"

Drew asked before I even had a chance to slide into the booth.

"Don't you think I'd be with him right now if I knew what the fuck was going on?"

Eyes darted around the table. The DAKS were trying to figure out what was going on and the DONNAS were probably trying to hint that one of their own was a giant dill-hole. We ordered drinks and had been sitting around chatting for ten minutes when I finally checked my phone. I didn't think I'd have a missed text or call from Shane, but I couldn't stop myself from checking or from being hopeful. I was still looking at my phone when Kurt's words sliced through the air.

"There he is!"

It was obvious he was talking to Shane and not those of us at the table. I looked up to see Shane but something was off. He looked good! He always looked good, but this was different. As I watched him walk toward the table I realized he'd put real effort into his look. He'd worn the very flattering jeans we'd bought together and an army-green, button shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows...and no hat. He looked damn good and I couldn't help but wonder if, maybe, he'd dressed up for me.

"Hey," he addressed the table as a whole before briefly acknowledging each person.

I anxiously waited for my turn only to receive the same smile everyone else did plus a slight head nod. Cool, I got a head nod, I thought through gritted teeth.

"Everyone, this is Davis. Davis, this is everyone."

I'd been so busy staring at and worrying about Shane that I hadn't noticed the tall, dark-haired beauty who followed him in. Davis shyly smiled and said hi to the group, who in turn, said hi in return. He slid into the empty space at the end of the booth and Shane was about to slide in next to him. Not me, nope. Next to Davis.

"Shane. Sit next to your damn boyfriend." Drew attempted to stand (mid-booth) and nudged everyone on the other side of me to scoot out to make room, as he said.

"What are you doing? Don't force him to sit next to me," I panic whispered using my hands to shield my mouth.

Drew didn't acknowledge the fact I was talking to him as everyone moved to make room for Shane, he sat back down like nothing happened. I threw daggers at him with my eyes and pinched his leg under the table for good measure.

"It's fine. He needs to be force fed sometimes," he said the words so casually I wasn't even sure he was talking to me.

Shane scooted in next to me and draped his arm over the booth behind me. After a moment I realized I was (ever so slightly) leaning into him. We weren't touching but we weren't not touching, either. The conversation around the table continued as if nothing was weird or different, yet, I was very aware of Shane's presence and proximity. The tension, good or bad, was very real between us. We talked to others and sometimes, were even in the same conversation, but never spoke directly to each other nor did we make eye contact.

I had relaxed a little as I took the last sip of my drink. When I finished it off, I set the glass down and without thinking, instinctively set my hand on Shane's thigh instead of my own lap. My body instantly went rigid with fear because I didn't know how Shane would react. I wanted to jerk my hand away out of anger but on the other hand I wanted to touch him. My mind was torn and I felt like a living and breathing Kermit the frog meme.

Leave your hand on his leg, you know you want to. Also, stab his leg with a fork.

He didn't react. I looked around the table to see if anyone else had noticed what was going on, though I didn't know why they would notice, or care. The only one paying any attention was Davis.

Who was he anyway? I knew he was handsome, in his late thirties, and he'd been intently watching us since Shane sat down next to me, but that was all. Was Shane returning is constant eye contact? I'd never know since Shane and I weren't looking at each other.

The longer I was physically connected to Shane, the more my anger molded into longing; for his uninhibited touch, the way he looked at me, smiled at me, and even his playful teasing. Somehow, things had gotten so turned around and I wanted nothing more than for him to come home with, to figure things out.

I felt his fingers as they brushed against my shoulder to get my attention, as if I wasn't fully aware of him.

"When we leave here, we need to talk."

I couldn't decipher his tone and it made me really nervous. I wanted to relax at his words but he hadn't talked to me since the morning he left and now he's here with me, but he showed up with a new guy. Of course, he wanted to talk, aka, dump my ass.

I nodded in defeat and removed my hand from his thigh so I could hold my empty beverage with both hands.

"Do you want a refill?" He softly whispered against the side of my head.

I'd dated the guy, we'd joked, laughed, and been physical together, yet his touch and the sound of his voice still set my nerves on fire. Granted, it might've been because I knew this might be the last time. He was probably trying to get me drunk to ease the blow.

I didn't need his help—I could get drunk all by myself.

"Yeah, but I can go get it."

"It's fine. I'll do it."

I didn't know how he meant it, but to me it was the equivalent of taking out the trash—it's fine, I'll take out the trash—when everyone knew you'd rather do anything but. I looked him square on.

"It's obvious you don't want to. I'll get my own drink," I spoke softly but sternly.

"Calm down. I'll get your drink."

To the average bystander we looked like any two people in a private conversation. Our faces were causal as we spoke quietly towards each other's ears, as to not attract unwanted attention. We could've been talking about any number of things, all pleasant of course.

Except, it was anything but pleasant. If you looked harder, you'd see that Shane's eyes were hard and emotionless, his jaw was set, his breathing was so slow it borderline terrifying. My own look mirrored his perfectly. It was a silent showdown.

"I don't want you to get my fucking drink," I quietly mocked with a slow, deliberate tone.

"Why do you always insist on being so difficult?"

"Excuse me?" I snapped. I narrowed my eyes at him. "I'm being difficult? You're the one who ran out, crying like a little bitch. You're the one who has ignored me all week. You're the one who's being difficult. So how about you shut the hell up?"

It was Shane's turn to narrow his eyes at me and I didn't miss the fire burning in them. I felt his fingers squeeze my shoulder with anger. I wanted to wince, but I didn't. The showdown was in full swing. My eyes darted around the table and realized we weren't being as inconspicuous as I'd thought. There were more than a few pairs of eyes on us.

I needed out.

I was sitting in the middle of a circle booth with six people on each side of me. Fuck, I cursed. There was no quick or easy exit.

"Can I get out, please? Like, now," I scowled.

I was being a little dramatic, but I was raging and needed to not be around anyone, Shane in particular. Drew was sitting to my left and practically shoved everyone out of the booth as if they were a stack of ill placed dominos.

I went to the bar and pounded another drink then went back to the table and gestured to the rest of the DONNAS.

"Dance floor, now."

I don't know why they saw when they looked at me but they scurried out of the booth and followed me without hesitation.

The dance floor was on the opposite side of the building from where our booth was, which gave us ample privacy. We were all dancing before I began to rant.

"He's such a fucking asshole. What did I ever see in him? I knew what I was getting myself into and yet...fuck! Look at me! Why do I like pretty things? There's nothing like a pretty face and pretty words to make me forget how terrible he really is."

They added the obligatory sympathetic and agreeable responses before helping me become lost in the music. They were good friends and they knew how to dance. I don't know how long we'd been dancing before Sammy tapped my shoulder, but it'd been a while.

"Who's that guy with Shane?"

I looked in the direction Sammy was gesturing and saw Shane standing at the bar while talking and laughing with Davis. I shrugged off their interaction like it was nothing, but inside, I was seething. Why'd he bring a strange person, who no one knew, to the bar for our baseball victory/loss? He never socializes outside his group? Why do it when we were fighting? Was he a friend? Had Shane moved on? Davis was likely part of the reason Shane wanted to get me drunk and talk.

"Fuck if I know. Looks like a date. Clearly, he has no problem hanging out with him. I guess he's less difficult than I am."

I hadn't taken my eyes off of Shane and Davis. I hated the way they were having a good time. I hated the fact Davis was touching him in flirtatious way, and I hated the fact Shane wasn't doing anything about it. After watching them for another minute, I added.

"I hope they're happy together."

No, I don't. That was a bold lie and everyone knew it. I'm a good person, but not that good.

Watching them was only irritating me, so I returned my focus to dancing and being lost in the music, again. I felt sweaty and gross by the time I was finally pulled out of my dance trance by Nick and Nelly as they gestured toward the bar for drinks. Since they brought it to my attention, I realized I was thirsty.

Shane was no longer at the bar, but back at the booth with Davis and the rest of the DAKS, plus a few others from the team.

We got our drinks and stood around laughing while we sipped our drinks and cooled off.

Allé was known as somewhat of an impersonating genius. His specialty: Oliver. And over the years, Oliver had given him more than enough material to go for hours. While standing around he gave us some Oliver classics, which had us laughing and reminiscing over some of our finer times together. It was during one of my favorite impressions that Britney Spears' song, "Toxic", started playing. Everyone's eyes got wide and look d at me with giant smiles. I knew what was coming.

I shook my head.

As if they were one being, they nodded their heads in unions.

"Oh-my-god! You have to! It's been years!" Oliver begged.

"This is your song! You can't not dance," Nick added.

I liked Britney, but I didn't love her. None of that mattered, though. While in high school, I was in a dance class and "Toxic" was a signature song during a big competition during my junior year. Years ago, I made the mistake of showing that particular dance to the DONNAS and ever since, they wouldn't let the song play without a repeat performance.

I'd never needed a lot of pushing to do it and with added effects of alcohol, I started dancing almost immediately. Muscle memory. The dance was actually, hilariously terrible, which was why they always wanted me to do it...so they could laugh their little asses off.

There wasn't time to move to the dance floor, so I danced by the bar. They made a circle around me so I had room—and they had an unobstructed view.

They were laughing, I was laughing, and other patrons around us were laughing. The dance was every stereotypical dance move teenage girls could come up with ten years ago—very cringe worthy stuff, but fun and funny.

I was barely able to finish the dance because I was laughing so hard and my face flushed when people started clapping.

"Oh-my-god. I need to go outside and hide! I can't believe everyone watched me. I'm so embarrassed."

I covered my face with my hands and the group pushed me through the bar while still laughing at the dance and the reaction from everyone who watched it.

As Allé shoved me through the double doors and into the cool night air, he laughed.

"Ten years of doing that dance and your only now embarrassed? Shit, you should've been embarrassed ten years ago...it's fucking terrible!"

'The cool night air' was an understatement. It was the sweat I acquired throughout the night that turned me into a human icicle the moment the cool air touched my skin.

"Fucking, brrr! Can someone grab my jacket from the booth?"

Everyone looked at me as if I was crazy for asking. Lazy bastards.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine! I'll be right back."

As I opened the front door, Sammy smiled and yelled for me to grab his also.

I flipped him off for being such a little asshole. Of course, I'd get his jacket, but I still needed to give him a hard time about it. I knew my jacket was sitting next to Shane, or at least it was when I left. I had to reminded myself it'd only take two seconds to grab it. I could do it.

The booth was toward the back of the room. The way it was angled no one saw me as I approached, but I heard their conversation loud and clear as I approached, stopping me dead in my track.

"...am I right? I mean, you wouldn't do anything like that would you?"

"Of course not."

Shane's reply was quick. He was adamant about not doing whatever Davis had asked him.

"I didn't think so, because you're not like them."

I wasn't sure exactly what they were talking about but I figured it had something to do with me, and I didn't know how I felt about that. I was glad no one had replied to his last statement, though.

It was several agonizingly long seconds before he realized no one was going to comment, so he decided to keep going.

"Seriously though, you're different. It's not my experience that not all gay guys are created equal. I guess to each their own. I for one, wish there were more guys like you. You're cool and chill. You're a man, you play sports, you live life. You don't try and prove yourself by waving the flag or...doing a ridiculously embarrassing dance to Britney Spears in the middle of a bar," he laughed, and I heard others join him.

I was seething by his words. Just what Shane needed, someone to stroke his overly manly ego.

"Well...yeah, I mean—I'm not a fag or anything, I just like a tight ass."

His words were followed by what sounded like an applaud of high fives.

If I was angry before, I was seeing red now.

Fucking assholes. All of them. I wasn't sure if I wanted to grab the jackets and leave or stay and make a big fucking scene. If they wanted flaming, I'd give the sons-of-bitches flaming!

I stepped into view as waved my fingers, demanding they give me what I wanted.

"Jackets."

My eyes locked on Shane, who looked 'ified' (mortified, terrified...and petrified). I could see the whole table staring but no one moved a muscle.

My eyes widened the way they do when you're trying to explain something to someone who annoys the crap out of you...and they're-just-not-tracking.

"I'm sorry. You must not have understood me."

When the stone figures remained unmoved, I pretended to compose myself and cleared my throat as if I was about to give a speech. I moved my hands and hips in an exaggerated fashion and spoke with the gayest dialect I could muster.

"Like, omg. I only need my jacket and then I'll be on my way."

Still, no one moved so I looked at Drew, who was sitting next to the said garments, and yelled.

"Just hand me the fucking jackets!"

I snapped Drew out of his 'we just got caught trash talking and none of us know how to recover' trance. He frantically grabbed the jackets and tossed them across the table. Once they were midair they decided to split up, making it impossible to catch them at the same time. It was total chaos as I knocked over several drinks while frantically grabbing my jacket, while a few guys rushed into damage control.

I had assumed Shane had planned on breaking up with me. I felt like it was fairly obvious when he told me he wanted to 'talk later', but after listening to the conversation, was confident of his plans. I decided I might as well use the opportunity to do it first. I balled the jackets against my chest as I gave Shane my undivided rage.

"Don't you worry, I won't be embarrassing you anymore. I'm sure it's obvious, but just to be clear...we're SOOO over! Please do us both a favor and lose my number, my address, and my friends. Three Strikes and you're out."

Shane just sat there and watched me. He didn't seem all that shocked or surprised, but then, he didn't seem much of anything. There were times I thought I saw emotions but they ranged so widely from anger, to sadness and regret, that I figured I'd seen it wrong. He had nothing to be angry about! That was for me.

I made eye contact with everyone at the table and shook my head with disappointment. I didn't catch the whole conversation so it was possible not everyone at the table said terrible things about me, but no one punched Davis...or Shane in the face or told them to shut their trap, either. In my eyes, they were all guilty assholes.

I wanted to be the bigger man and walk away but I couldn't. I picked up a full glass of ice water that was sitting on the table and threw it into Shane's face. It was something I'd always wanted to do and there was no better timing to be a bit dramatic than after hearing my boyfriend talk crap about me behind my back.

Satisfied with how I'd handled everything, I stormed out with all of the confidence in the world. The confidence only lasted until I stepped outside and saw the faces of my closest friends, then I dropped to the ground and started sobbing. Everyone rushed to my side and started to bombard me with questions. I don't know how much of what I said was coherent, but they appeared to understand enough to utter some choice words about the DAKS as they loaded my lifeless body into the car and drove me home.