I assumed I would see him sometime Saturday night for a birthday party, but not Friday.

It was one of my friend’s 21st birthweek celebrations.  As a preparty to the big party on Saturday, she wanted us all to go downtown Friday.  You know I’m never one to turn down a door cover of six dollars to drink all I can handle and well, she’s my bitch and it’s her birthday–of course I went.

It was early.  While some bars I do go to when the doors are just opening to avoid covers, I don’t tend to go to this one around ten, but she and I were bored and wanted to get a head start.  We’ll call her the accountant, as she absolutely hates all her accounting classes.

We weren’t even one sip into our first drinks when I saw him already hunched over the bar talking to his neighbor (the one Amaya and I ran into at the gym).  I never know how he’s going to act when I see him, so I don’t tend to approach him at bars, I let him do that.   I pointed him out to the Accountant and then got attacked by ZB and his friend.

I was on my way back from the bathroom about thirty minutes later when he was standing right next to ZB getting another drink.  We still hadn’t said anything to each other.  I don’t know if he had even seen me or not, so I just stood next to ZB and waited for him to turn around.

Beer in hand, Baseball Player turned around and saw me.  Just one look at him told me he was already blitzed.  I tried to give him a high five, but he leaned in to give me what I thought was a hug and he thought was a kiss.  I turned my face just in time to ask him what he was doing.  “I was just kissing you hello.” “We’re in a bar.”  He didn’t listen and kissed me on my cheek, made some short small talk and walked off.

By this time several of my guy friends had shown up.  We all have a strange tendency to show our friendship to each other by awkwardly dancing and humping the other–completely un-sexy and mostly mocking people grinding on the dance floor.  Baseball Player seemed to have noticed this, as each time I would act stupid with one of them, he’d come back and talk to me.  He started whispering things to me like how he would “fuck me all night long,” how “you know I would fuck you any day, any night. Whenever you want it.”–which I of course laughed at and told him that was clearly very untrue. He’d pull me into him and try to kiss me, while running his hands up my dress.  Completely sober and against any sort of P.D.A. in bars, I had to swat him away every time. “We’re in a bar, Baseball Player!” “No one has to know.”  “I’d know.” And so would the people bumping into me and the girl sitting in the stool next to you…

At one point, I turned around to find him flicking beer on me from seven feet away.  I guess I picked a good night to go out with at least eight different guy friends and one other girl.  Baseball Player and the Accountant know each other and since the feelings my friends have about him seem to become an issue when he’s drunk, he sought out the Accountant to refute such dissenting opinions.

She ran up to me telling me he attacked her and berated her with inquisitions about her hatred for him.  She is one of the few that doesn’t hate him, nor care what we do and proceeded to tell him so.  This pleased him.  He followed her back to me and we all stood in a triangle.  I wasn’t even buzzing, the Accountant may have been–barely–and he, he was gone.  He then grabbed the Accountant, who violently flinched in retaliation, and kept kissing her on the cheek.  She pulled away and he constantly looked at me, while continuing to kiss her.  I stared at him wide-eyed and plainly asked, “What do you want from me?”  He stopped, let go of the Accountant, flicked me off and said, “Nothing.” and walked away. The Accountant and I just looked at each other and then ran off to hump on ZB for awhile.

We moved between the bar area and the porch, back and forth when the cold spring air got to be too much for the dress I wore that is more appropriate for summer. Baseball Player always lingered somewhere near, but finally I lost track of him.  He disappeared and I found myself singing Juicy, as I always do, with one of the guys.  I had only cleared through three cups of beer at this point.  For six bucks, I wasn’t getting my monies worth and Magic Hat had already run out. I was growing bored, the bar was getting more crowded and ZB was getting a little too grabby.  I decided to text Baseball Player, asking him when he wanted to hang out–because he had insisted all night long he would “do me all night long…”  His response: Now.  I asked where he was.  Home.  I told him I was going to get my car from the Accountant’s apartment, run by my house and be there in twenty–a gross underestimation.

I got on the bus alone to get back to the Accountant’s apartment. I sat down and got out my phone.  A guy sat diagonally from me, alone as well, sinking all of his weight slowly onto the hand he propped up on the handicap railing.  Two freshmen sat across from me admiring the giant X’s on their hands. I sat alone, cold, staring at my phone and hoping the bus would speed up–those twenty minutes were passing quickly.  The freshmen broke my bored gaze and asked what I was about to get into.  Not in the mood to be hit on, I plainly replied, “I’m about to go fuck my fuck buddy.” They looked surprised and said, “What?” “You heard me.” The predictable, “Yo, you trying to do me/have a new fuck buddy” propositioning began.  One even had the audacity to ask for my number.  I told them I wasn’t really in the market for a new fuck buddy, but thanks.  I ran off the bus as soon as it got to the apartment complex and jumped in my car.  I sped down the street, strategizing in my head what I needed to grab from my house.  Phone charger, soffee shorts, my black tube socks (I love tube socks, especially thigh high ones), a random pirate shirt, etc. etc. etc.  I was in and out of my house, teeth brushed and everything in five minutes flat, but the bus still had eaten up a lot of time and that “twenty minutes” turned into almost an hour.

I pulled up to Baseball Player’s house and could see someone sleeping in the hammock on his porch before I even parked. I knew it was him.  Once I got within ten feet of his house, I could hear the drunken snores of a passed out baseball player.  It was loud and hilarious. I climbed the steps, laid my purse on the floor and attempted to wake him, laughing all the while.  It took a lot of coercion, poking, shifting and hammock shaking, but I eventually got him to sit up.  I pulled the keys out of his limp hands and tried to open the door.  But the door rejected the keys time and time again.  His head hung heavy in his hands and the hammock slowly swayed.  I knelled before him, a position I’m used to, and held up the keys. “Ok, BP, there are two keys here.  One is gold and the other is well, also gold.  Which one opens the door?”  He stared at both of them. “They’re both gold.” “That’s correct, which one opens the door?”  He stood up, took the keys and tried his hand at it, neither worked.  At that instant, his two roommates and their girlfriends showed up on the street, after walking home from the bar.  I told them we couldn’t open the door, so his roommate took BP’s keys and the other roommate used his own keys to open the door.  In that moment, one of the girlfriends tripped on her maxi dress, fell back, twisted and smashed her head into the cement steps.  The wailing began, the roommate/boyfriend took BP’s keys he was handing and violently threw them at the roof.  One of the key fobs smashed into pieces and buttons sprinkled the steps.  The girlfriend kept crying, everyone stood motionless watching. I looked at the shattered key fob thinking–that thing is like $200.  I was the only sober one there, so I sent the other girl off to get ice and I began picking up the key fob pieces to put it back together.  Baseball Player grabbed me and told me to come inside.  I have no idea how the crying girl turned out.

Once inside, I assumed nothing was going to happen, BP wasn’t really in a state that I thought would be conducive for any sort of tryst. But after some silly conversation, he attacked me with more voraciousness than I thought he could muster. I sometimes forget how persistent and eager he is when he’s drunk.  He took no time stripping me of my clothes, but I insisted the tube socks stay on–that’s how I roll– and with no push or direction, BP dived right into work.

Face deep and fingers deep, BP got the job done like he usually does.  And then five more times.  He was on a roll.  I didn’t particularly feel like getting laid–GASP! Clearly, I was growing tired from his attention!–and just domed him twice. Whenever BP is that drunk, he likes to break his rule and get all touchy-feelly-makey-outie–A stark contrast to what I would see eight hours later.

Afterwards it was very strange and uncharacteristic of BP. He got all spoon-ie for awhile, until he finally rolled away without a word and fell asleep immediately.  I snuck off to the bathroom quietly.  Dave Chappelle stand up had been on the entire time, so I tried to fall asleep to that, but to no avail.  It took me awhile, but I finally drifted off to sleep to sound of a silent house and BP quietly snoring.  I couldn’t have been asleep long when I heard BP make a noise and before I could even open my eyes, I felt myself get smacked in the face.  In a hard, startling way, not a welcoming face slap.  The slap turned into an odd partial spoon.  BP was out cold though.  I fell back asleep, until I woke up to him sleeping on my shoulder and snoring in my ear.  It was almost cute for a minute, but my tiredness pushed him away.

I wasn’t woken up again until I saw a disgruntled Baseball Player getting out of his bed at 10.  I asked him what he was doing, he said putting on a shirt.  I could tell by his demeanor that he was kind of annoyed I was there, that he had no idea why I was there or what happened the night before.  Fantastic. What did I expect?  I tried to break down the night for him and he wasn’t happy about it.  He got up to look for his keys, I told them they were on his dresser.  I had put them there after I put the key fob back together (you’re welcome?).  He told me those were my keys, not his.  No those are yours…  No they aren’t… He was not in a good mood. Period. He suddenly remembered whose keys they were–a new homegirl he’s trying to hit it with and had been holding her keys for her the night before.

He climbed back in bed.  Annoyed.  I kept thinking I just need to go, but I was so tired from not sleeping well I didn’t really want to get up.  He laid there texting the new homegirl, so I texted all the girls about our pool plans.  This went on for awhile, until he said that homegirl was coming to get her keys. “So do I need to hide or leave.”  “Probably the latter.”  “That’s nice. Now?” “Yeah.”  Awesome. I peeled myself out of bed, found my clothes and left as quickly as I could, which is just as well. I was supposed to be at the pool in twenty minutes anyway. However, I left in such a hurry, I left my charger in his wall.  Damnit.

I texted him when I was putting on my bathing suit ten minutes later.  I told him to let me know when homegirl left so I could get it (my new phone battery sucks and lasts maybe 8 hours, so it was imperative that I get my charger back that day).
Later at the pool, after devouring a delish sub from Subway and telling the Accountant and Dev what had happened, I got a text from BP saying my phone charger was in his mailbox.

Dev laughed and said, “He won’t even see you to give it back.”

I smeared in my tanning oil, looked at her with squinted eyes and said, “that’s nice.”