Reality Check Part 2

Sittin' across from him, was a thin blonde with legs that wouldn't quit and cheekbones Cindy Crawford herself would die for.

“What? Come on, it's this way. You can walk and breathe can't you? Jeaux? Jeaux what's the matter with you?”

“Rachel did you or did you not talk to him?” I asked her again not botherin' to look away.

“Oh,” she said. Oh. She saw full well what I was lookin' at and exactly what I was askin' her. Did she know he was goin' on a date? Did she know that he would be at that restaurant in particular?

“Come on, Jeaux, I don't think it's serious. You're not helping yourself staring.”

I knew it wouldn't matter how many different ways I asked the question, whether Rachel had intended on me seein' Kevin there or not, I would probably never know.

But that thing I had wanted to know – that question, of like or love...or monogamy...(or a comparable number of painful nights pinin' at the very least)...or a stream of girlfriends I never knew about – was just as I had originally figured it to be... too painful to bare. I didn't want to know!

Now I could not NOT know. He was on a date! With a gorgeous woman. One actually in his league- 'cause as I have it figured, I am probably not.

My mouth felt dry, but my hands were slick with sweat. And somehow I felt cold all over but still felt something burnin' a hole in my chest. Any other day and I doubt I would have taken it so poorly. We'll call it bad timin' at its finest.

“Look at her Rachel! She's gorgeous!”

“Eh,” she grunted, shruggin' her shoulders (as any good friend would do), “Come on, let's go,” she coaxed again, tuggin' on my arm. I'm not sure if I was tryin' my absolute best to will Kevin to turn his head and look at me, but it sure wasn't workin'.

Just then, a group of guys came stumblin' out of the bar. Two of whom had been kind enough to buy Rachel and I a round of drinks, and were currently hailin' down a cab.

“Headin' to The Hideout ladies, care to join us?” they called, wavin' us over to their cab.

“Now Jeaux. Let's go,” Rachel demanded, stompin' her foot.

Jumpin' into the cab with the guys we barely knew, (sure I'd managed to make-out with one of them already, but that was a given considerin' my blood-alcohol level and his please-kiss-me lips) and drove away from the reality I wished that wasn't. The reality I knew I didn't want to know. I could feel my instinctive reflex to find a diversion. Anything. Anybody. And, I just happened to be in luck. There was a pretty handsome diversion sittin' next to me.

Pullin' a joint from his jacket pocket, he didn't bother to ask the cabbie, or be concerned with the criminality of his actions, when he lit the fat end, puffed twice and passed it to me.

By the time we got to The Hideout, I was drunk, high, pissed, hurt, and irritated even further that I had not yet consumed enough drug-type substances to let me forget that I was pissed and hurt.

Inside the bar, I was on a mission, and Rachel saddled up right next to me. I let my new friend (who's name I kept forgettin') stick around, snugglin' my neck and wrappin' his arms around me from behind. His kisses were soft and sweet, which was nice. But he wasn't the one I wanted.

“Shot!” I called out again.

Like magic, there was suddenly another round bein' passed out, put back, and glasses slammed down.

Another.

Again.

Swoonin' back and forth, I tried my best to bury myself into his chest. But he didn't smell right. I nuzzled his neck, but his skin was prickly with whiskers, not smooth as it should be. I tried to dance with him, but his hips kept movin' in the opposite direction of my own. We couldn't find a rhythm.

And I was toasted. The drunker I got, the less impressed I was with my new friend, and I found myself brushin' him away and soon was avoidin' his kisses altogether.

I had barely even acknowledged Rachel's friend, and had to be reminded that her name was Aubree, 'cause apparently she doesn't like bein' called “hey.”

“I'm ready to go,” I abruptly announced prolly a bit louder than was required. Mr. Kiss-me-lips, had become Mr. Can't-take-a-hint and I was ready to be rid of my leech. I literally swatted his hand away like a fly only moments before, and still, he was there, creepin' his way in for a feelsky.

“Oh my God! Can you not take a hint?” I finally cried out, “Thanks but no thanks, okay, it's not gonna happen.”

“What's your problem?” he asked, lookin' wounded.

“It's not you,” Rachel said, tryin' to help, “she's just upset.”

“I got something that'll make you feel better,” he grinned, tryin' to rub against me again.

“Seriously?” I couldn't believe this guy. I grabbed his nuts in my fist, watched as his eyes bulged along with his Adam's-apple, (and I'm pretty sure he might've stopped breathin' for a minute) and spat, “You don't have half of what I need.”

“Definitely time to go!” Rachel squeeled jumpin' from her seat. Grabbin' my purse and Aubree's hand, she pulled me away from Mr. Not-so-much and shoved us all out the door.

Outside, Rachel nearly fell down she was laughin' so hard. Barely standin' upright, she hunched over, grabbin' her sides with her hands and with tears streamin' down her cheeks.

“Oh my God Jeaux! Did you see the look on that guy's face? We've got to get out of here! Oh my God!” she said still shakin' with laughter.

I couldn't help but feel kind of bad for Aubree. I think she might've found her a keeper, and she didn't look to be quite as understandin' of the treatment wrought upon my fella. Her deer-in-the-headlights gaze, combined with the fact that her jaw still hung half agape, made me wonder if my company might be a bit much for the poor girl.

And in perfect harmony with my “change” themed day, a bicycle cabbie pulled up in front of us.

“Need a ride?” he asked.

“Yes!” we all chimed together.

My mind was still awash with thoughts of Kevin, but given my hefty buzz, they were all of a more risqué nature than that of the torturous emotions of a mind more concerned with realisms.

“So you make pretty good money doin' this?” Rachel asked the cabbie. I only then noticed how slurred her speech was startin' to get. I hadn't been payin' attention to how soused our DD was.

The cabby's shirt was stained with sweat down the center of his back, and his hair was shiny along his brow. He had the best calves I had ever seen though. Gotta look for the positive in a job like that I'd assume.

“My God, how did we get so far away?” Rachel asked, lookin' around like she was lost. “Weren't we parked just around the corner?”

“We took a cab over there remember?” I reminded her.

“Umm, you can just drop me off here,” came a tiny voice. Oh, it was Aubree. Why was she so easy to forget about? Was I really so completely consumed by my own bullshit? Yes, I think I was.

Droppin' her off, and havin' to remind Rachel yet again, of our destination, because yes, we had taken a cab, and yes we were currently bein' towed by a guy on a bike, and no, he was not goin' to slaughter us an in alley...and man, this was gettin' out of hand fast.

After payin' the cabbie, and tippin' him handsomly for his chivalrous attempts at heavin' the now nearly unconscious Rachel from the carriage, we were loaded in the car.

There was just one problem.

I was in the driver's seat. And I don't drive for a reason.