“Boyfriend! Hi!” the girl suddenly standing in front of Eddie exclaims as she grabs him by the shoulders and yanks him into a hug.
He stumbles forward with a startled yelp, soda splashing over the lip of his plastic cup, and he’s about to shrug her off — tell her he’s far too gay and far too sober for whatever this shit is — when she squeezes him tighter and starts talking a mile a minute, whispering fiercely in his ear, “Please just play along. This creep won’t stop following me and I can’t find Stevie and I am really starting to freak out.”
Eddie looks over the girl’s shoulder. He doesn’t know who Stevie is, but he’s almost positive it’s not the sweaty fucker hovering in the shadows just a few feet away, looking every bit the hungry dog with a juicy steak in front of his face. Eddie’s not even sure how this guy got past the bouncer, to be honest. He looks about thirty years older than everyone else in the club, with a receding hairline and a mustache that should count as a fucking misdemeanor and a beer gut hanging out of the bottom of his too-tight Bud Light t-shirt.
Eddie tucks the girl’s hair behind her ear, mutters ‘I gotcha’ and places his lips to her neck, making pointed eye contact with the creep until he scowls at them both and retreats back into the pulse of the crowd.
“God, you're lucky I do theater,” Eddie says as he pulls away. The taste of her grossly floral perfume is clinging to his tongue like a stray cat hair, and he wipes his mouth against his sleeve.
The girl laughs at him. “My hero,” she says and rolls her eyes. “Robin Buckley.”
She gives a playful bow, bending low and sweeping imagined coattails out of the way, so Eddie returns it with a pantomimed curtsy, and they’re both laughing when their hands meet in a firm, friendly shake.
“Knew you were my people,” she smiles and drops his hand.
Eddie raises a brow. “Your people?”
“Yeah,” she says, flicking at one of the smaller, more subtle pins on his vest. “Friend of Dorothy, right?”
“I mean, most guys wouldn’t have looked so nauseous about getting to pretend to give a hot girl a hickey, you know.”
“Wow,” he laughs, “someone’s real confident.”
“Oh, shut up,” she grins. She slurps at her straw, gives her cup a disappointed shake when she realizes there’s nothing left but ice in it, and says, “Damn. Well, come on then.”
“Let me buy you a drink!” She grabs his wrist and tugs him toward the bar.
Eddie plants his feet to halt her momentum, and she looks over her shoulder, eyes expectant and wide.
“Uh. Flattered though I am, Lady Buckley, I thought we just established that you’re not my type?”
“Not your… oh, my god, as a thank you, Eddie, jeez.” She rolls her eyes and starts tugging at him again, muttering mockery under her breath. “‘Not my type.’ As if you’re my type. Please.”
prguitarman
jacobvanloon
izzy806
origamiaround
titsay
jbbartram-illu
ellievsbear
annaxmalina
romaincrisis
