Page 8 of Vince
Damn, he can fill out a pair of jeans.
I don’t get to appreciate the view for long because my next customer steps up to the bar and places a big order. I absentmindedly go through the process of making their drinks and then ones for the steady line that typically picks up at this time of night on the weekend.
Vince doesn’t come back to the bar for the rest of the evening. When his table needs a refill, one of his friends comes up with the pitcher instead. I know this because I can’t keep my eyes from drifting in his direction throughout the evening.
One thing’s for sure, Vince is not a typical twenty-one-year-old out for the night on the town. He and his friends are relaxed and in a steady flow of conversation. They don’t head out to the dance floor and other than his friend hitting on me, they pretty much keep to themselves. They must be good friends because often I’ll hear laughter from their direction when the music slows.
When a patron has to get my attention by waving a hand in front of my face, I scold myself.
I’m not even sure why I’m paying attention to Vince. I’m on a man diet. I’ve had my share of assholes, and I’ve sworn to take a break. I force myself to look away and not turn back in their direction while I serve the next rush of people.
When I slip up and glance in that direction again—he’s gone.
Glancing around the bar, I see two of the guys from their table on the dance floor. But he and the tall guy he was sitting next to are nowhere to be found. Maybe they’re in the bathroom? I busy myself by cleaning and restocking my area. I wait on a few more customers, but for some reason, my eyes scan the room. After a while, I accept the fact that they’ve gone home.
The rest of the night seems to go slower than a sloth at the DMV. We have a steady stream of customers, but the clock barely moves. By the time we announce last call, I’m eager to get out of here. I quickly go through my closing duties and have never been more thankful when Asher, our head bouncer, asks if I’m ready to walk out with him. Eagerly, I accept. Thank God, this night is over.
* * *
As I’m walking across campus to my last class of the day, I’m craving Swedish Fish. I pop into the convenience store on campus and grab a small bag to snack on during my next class. The line’s much longer than I expect, so by the time I’m done, I’m forced to powerwalk to be on time for my next class.
Just as I reach the door of the building, a man’s hand darts in front of me to reach for the handle. Absentmindedly, I mutter a thanks and wait for him to pull it open. But his hand doesn’t move. I glance up to make eye contact with the moron who’s holding me up, and I’m startled to find Vince’s hazel eyes staring back at me. Though this time, instead of looking at his tousled brown hair, it’s covered in a baseball cap, and he’s wearing dark-rimmed glasses. He still looks handsome as ever, but I wouldn’t necessarily recognize him like I did at the bar Friday night.
“I knew I recognized you,” I mutter more to myself than to him.
“It appears you do.” Vince slowly smirks as he opens the door. “What class are you heading to?” he asks with genuine interest.
“Financial management.”
Vince’s eyes widen, and his jaw drops. “How have wenotmet before?”
I shrug. Because what can I say?
When we get to our destination, he opens the door once again for me. “Thank you,” I say sheepishly as I make my way into the lecture hall. There are close to one hundred people in this class, as it’s only offered spring semester. But I still can’t get over the fact we’re just now meeting.
Instead of making our departure awkward, I cut right and take a seat in my typical area of the lecture hall. When I turn to take off my backpack, I’m surprised to find Vince following me down the aisle.
He raises his hand in innocence. “I’m not a stalker or anything. But it felt like our conversation wasn’t quite over, and I didn’t want to make things awkward, either.”
“It’s no problem at all,” I assure him as I take my seat. “There’s plenty of room.” I gesture to the few vacancies around me.
Vince doesn’t say anything but takes his time to plop himself in the seat next to me and gather the things he’ll need for taking notes. By the time we’re both settled, neither one of us get the chance to say anything because the professor walks up to the podium to begin class.
Of course, there’s no waynotto notice Vince sitting next to me. He flips up the built-in table and makes himself comfortable. His large frame takes up the space, and his legs stretch out and cross naturally in front of him.
But that’s not what captures my attention and never lets go. No—that would be his musky cologne that almost has the effect of catnip to a kitten. Even though I’dneveract upon it, I feel my nerve endings zing with hypersensitivity to his closeness. With each and every move he makes, electric currents zip through my body. Like a magnetic force I can’t seem to grab control of, the electric pulses involuntarily roll up and down my spine and rumble into my belly.
When the person to my right drops her pen on the floor, I’m brought back to reality.
What the fuck am I doing?
I don’t react to guys like this.
I’m not some dumb teenager experiencing her first crush.
But as I rack my brain trying to figure out what makes this man different from the others, I come up empty-handed. I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to anyone.
Maybe I’m just being hormonal?
