Robbery In Progress

Emma

Am I the type of twenty-nine-year-old to hang out in a bar late at night? Or, ever, really? I wouldn’t say so.

And yet, that is where I’ve found myself. On a Friday night, no less. I’m also pretty sure that I’m at least tipsy, which is also very unlike me. In my defense, most of this was an accident.

No, actually, I take that back. Someone is to blame for everything going on right now, but just to be clear that someone is not me. It is my boss, Drew’s fault.

He’s the one that gave me news I did not want to hear at work and then proceeded to invite everyone out for drinks in this bar near where I live. Then, he bought everyone drinks, and then left. So now, here I am, by myself because all of my coworkers have gone home, sitting in a bar way past my usual limit of none.

So yeah, I’m a lightweight. Just as I’m about to get the bartender’s attention and ask for water, a woman walks in and slides right up to the bar and speaks to the very bartender holding the keys to my water.

“Hey Steph, just soda tonight.” She sits after Steph, formally “bartender” to me, nods in acknowledgement. It’s then that she notices me sitting in the chair next to her. “Hi, sorry, were you in the process of ordering or something?”

The question makes my face scrunch up in confusion as I feel my body start to withdraw. “Uhm, no. Why?”

“Your hand was raised. And you seem like you’re looking for something.” She replied easily. If I wasn’t intoxicated right now, I might recognize that those are very easy things to recognize. But I am, so instead I am impressed by her skills of observation, reluctantly but still.

Blowing out a breath in resignation I reply, “I was going to ask for water.” Without saying a word, this beautiful stranger turns to make eye contact with the bartender, who nods again as she sets down the soda the woman asked for.

“Water coming right up.” I took my turn to nod in acknowledgement now and say nothing else, but my eyes don’t leave hers.

After a beat I can’t take the silence anymore, “so, uh, do you come here often?” Oh my God, did I seriously just ask that?, I thought to myself and apparently the feeling was clear on my face because she laughed. “Sorry, that was-I didn’t mean for that to come out like a pickup line or anything. I’m not trying to pick you up, I mean not that you don’t deserve being picked up, because you do, I just mean-” I let out a frustrated groan, “you seem to know the bartender here well so that’s where I was going with the question.”

I can tell that she’s amused but, bless her, she chooses to just answer my question instead of commenting on that shit show. “Steph was my college roommate. I come here sometimes to hang out with her. But I wouldn’t say it happens often. What about you?” Before I could answer she continued, “to be clear, that is also not a pickup line. If I were to use one, which I haven’t ruled out yet, it would less cliché.”

Okay. Okay. I stare at her for a long minute, trying to process that information. Then I remember she asked me a question. “This is my first time here. Wait, I’m sorry, I need to come back to this before my brain can move on.”

She smiled at that, a big smile that seems to dazzle me for no good reason. “Of course,” she replies. “What are we coming back to?”

Like she doesn’t know what she just started, I think to myself.

“Are you hinting that you might pick me up? Because, I don’t, uh, well, I don’t really know what I’d do if that was the case.” Just thinking abut it, my body warms in a way it hasn’t in… a long time now. But, no, we’re not going there.

Steph sets a glass of water in front of me and I dive for it, hoping the cool liquid will help chill me out. This woman just stares at me as I gulp down the whole glass of water, and that’s when I realize I still don’t know her name. Another perfect reminder that she is a stranger and I shouldn’t sleep with her. Or engage with her at all really, I should go home and sleep this off.

“Penny for your thoughts?” She asked it softly, but the words bounced around in my head as if she screamed them. My fiance used to say that to me, another eye-opening reason to leave right this minute. And yet, I don’t leave. I can’t seem to.

She’s… captivated me. Her bright green eyes holding me in place, daring me to reach out and connect with her. Dammit.

“I’m not really used to being pursued so… obviously. I guess? Also, my life is kind of a mess. I probably shouldn’t be making decisions in this state.”

“So, if I was pursuing you, you think it would be a bad idea but clearly you’re thinking about it, anyway?”

Well, huh. “I guess, yeah. I’m not usually like this. I don’t hang out in bars, I don’t get drunk, I definitely don’t consider sex with strangers.”

She took a sip of her soda while she thought about this, “and yet, here we are.”

I nodded in agreement, “here we are, indeed.”

I’m not sure what I was expecting next, but it wasn’t what happened. “Why is your life kind of a mess right now?”

I’m going to need some more water if she’s going to be throwing curveballs like this all night. I signaled for another glass as I considered what I was going to say back. “At my job, I’ve fallen into more of a research position as of late, but that’s not what I should be doing. Or rather, that’s not all I should be doing. My boss said it better than that. Anyway, there’s a few responsibilities I’ve stepped away from for a while now and starting Monday he’s not going to let me avoid them anymore. His words, not mine. I’m avoiding nothing. I happen to like research.”

I can’t explain how I know, but I can tell she understands but what I’m not saying. That unnerves me, but it also makes me feel… safe. Safe in a way I haven’t felt for a while.

“What happened?” The question was simple and even though she didn’t elaborate, I knew what she was talking about.

“I made a call. It was the wrong one. People got hurt.” I was hardly ready to talk to myself about what happened, so I’ve shocked myself with this confession.

She nods in understanding before replying, “okay, but how many right calls did you make?”

I look up at her, taken aback. “What?”

“At your job, out of all the calls you’ve made. How many were the right ones? How many of them saved lives? Is it less or more than the wrong calls?” Where was this girl all my life? She doesn’t even know what I do. Hell, she doesn’t even know what my name is, and yet here she is saying something perfectly supportive and comforting.

I shake my head, “I don’t exactly keep track.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe you should start. I do that at my job. It helps, to remember the people I saved. It helps me deal with the ones I couldn’t a little easier.”

Taking another sip of my water, I consider her. For the first time since she walked in, I really actually look at her. I take in her pant-suit, which looks killer by the way, and her tennis-shoes. Odd mix, but it suits her. If I were to guess, she came here straight from work, pant-suit, and didn’t want to keep her heels on any longer, tennis-shoes.

I wasn’t one to wear heels, that wasn’t my thing, and I never quite understood why most women were still torturing themselves with stilts. But I had to admit she probably looked hot as hell in heels.

After too long, I realize that I’ve zoned out looking at her shoes. My gaze snaps back up to hers and I shove my hand out, “my name’s Emma by the way.”

She slides her hand into mine, rolling with my extremely socially awkward moment easily. The contact causes me to suck in a breath. It should be illegal for someone’s hands to be this, this, something. God, I couldn’t even describe it, and it wasn’t the alcohol stunting me.

“Kelsey,” she replied. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Emma.” Alright, I admit it, telling her my name was a mistake because it sounded way too good coming from those lips.

Rubbing my thumb on her hand, I asked, “have you made a decision about if you are pursuing me?”

Her gaze turned playfully speculative. “Why do you ask?”

Taking a dive into the unknown, I pushed forward. “If you happened to pursue me right now, I’m pretty sure I’d say yes.”

Now her eyes burned with interest as she stood from her chair, standing close. “You’d say yes to what?”

She was close enough now that I could smell her cherries and vanilla scent, it enveloped me in warmth and heat. “Why don’t you say something and find out?” A bolder question than I would usually put forth, but she made me feel bold. She was a drug to my system, completely overriding that of the alcohol which was fading with time and water.

“Can I kiss you?” As she asked the question she laced her fingers with mine with one hand and ran a finger from her other along my check.

Eyes locked, I nodded slightly. “Yes.”

Without hesitation, she leaned forward, and I met her halfway, our lips testing the waters of each other. Something that started exploratory moved to frantic quickly. The sudden urgency caused me to pull back as we both gasped for air.

Her hand still cupping my cheek, she asked another question, “come home with me?”

Again, I nodded. “Yes.”