“And you, Mr. Heartthrob?”

Jacoby laughs.  “What are you talking about?”

“Oh come on, you can’t tell me you don’t notice how half the female student body stares dreamily in your wake every day.”  I try to hide my grin with a bite of garlic bread as his face turns an impressive shade of red.

“Can’t say I’ve noticed.  And I’m 25.”

“Why would you choose to teach high school when you’re only 25?  You’re barely out of high school yourself.”

He scoffs.  “I’ve been out of high school for 7 years, thank you very much.  I couldn’t tell you the exact moment I decided to teach high school.  It just sort of happened.”

Jacoby and I sit staring at each other, neither of us eating or talking, for what feels like forever.  I get the feeling he’s holding back something.  Maybe a piece of personal information, which kind of pisses me off.  It’s not like he hasn’t learned more than enough about me in the past two days.

He stands up to clear our plates, and I hop up to join him, shaking off my annoyance.

“So, I feel a little better asking this now that I know you’re eighteen, but a buddy of mine wants me to go out with him tonight.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, I feel surprisingly hurt.  “You should go.  I’ll be fine here.”  I discard the remnants of food into the garbage, pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and begin running the water to rinse them for the dishwasher.

“Tatum, I want you to come with me.”

I pause scrubbing a sauce pan.  “You do?  Why?”  Always too curious for my own good.  I can’t help fishing for information even when I should keep my big mouth shut.

“I’m not leaving you alone here.  You’re my guest, and I want you to come with me.  It might be nice for you to get your mind off of everything.”

“I don’t want to make things awkward for you.”  And I don’t want to be a damn charity case.

“You won’t. I promise.”

“What if someone sees us?  I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

Jacoby looks thoughtful for a minute.  “Don’t worry, I have an idea.  It’ll be fine.”

I probably shouldn’t agree.  I should stay home and study or figure out how to clean up this mess called my life.  I should probably do anything other than go with him.  But somehow I find myself saying yes before I fully think it through.

“Great,” he smiles at me.  “We’ll head out around nine.”

Even though I’ve lived here my entire life, I’ve never been out to Old Willow.  The place is known for not checking ID’s so my age isn’t an issue.  At the end of junior year, I decided I have too little free time to spend it out drinking, and vowed I wouldn’t step foot in this place until I graduated.  I made it about 4 months.  I can categorize that into the win column.

The building is old and weathered, with some bricks crumbling on the face of the structure.  There’s one heavy wooden door leading in, and one heavy wooden door leading out through the back, and six huge windows which are frosted so you can’t see inside, liquor advertisements plastered across the glass.

As we step inside, I realize the old decrepit looks are deceiving.

The bar is alive with loud rock music, a local band playing on a rickety stage in the far corner.  A large semicircular bar adorns the front of the room, behind it lined with shelves upon shelves of bottles and four large coolers.  The place is literally packed.  Young and old, bikers and groups of women, pretty girls and football jocks.  I’ve never seen such a strange array of people gathered together in my life.

“Come on,” Jacoby whispers as he tugs my hand, pulling me inside.  I stopped to take in the scene in front of me and evidently upset some patrons by letting in a rush of cold air.  Oops.

Jacoby leads us through the crowd, stopping to scan around us every few minutes.  He stands almost a foot taller than my 5’2” and doesn’t seem to have any trouble spotting his friend.  He pulls my hand towards the center of the bar where a huge guy gets out of his chair to great him.

This man has muscles larger than my head, and I’m mesmerized by the flex and rippling of his forearm as he shakes Jacoby’s hand.  He’s about 6’5 and by the looks of him, spends a lot of time in the gym.  His head is nearly bald, and he has a set of piercing blue eyes, which he pins me with in that moment, catching me staring.  I think the temperature in here just increased a good 10 degrees.

“And who’s this pretty little thing you’ve been hiding from me?” he asks, slipping my hand into his large paw.

“Stop it, man,” Jacoby says, pushing the guy jokingly.  “This is Tatum.  And this is Trey,” he introduces us before taking a seat at the bar.

“Nice to meet you, Tatum,” Trey says, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.  I swear if he kisses it, I’m out of here.   “Sit by me, will you?”

The flash of my eyes to Jacoby’s is automatic, a subconscious reaction as if searching him to say, is this okay?

As if he heard my silent question, Jacoby locks his eyes with mine and nods his head.  A small smile curves his pink plump lips.

Shit.  Don’t look at his lips.

Trey pulls the stool out with his foot, and I clamber on none to gracefully.  My back is ramrod straight while I sit, unsure of what to do next.  Small talk has never been my forte, unless it includes 90 year olds who don’t hear half of what I’m saying anyway.  Sensing my distress, Jacoby begins a conversation with Trey, and I try to relax.

As I sit here taking them in, I realize this was part of Jacoby’s plan.  My stool is somehow positioned closer to Trey than Jacoby.  When I look over, I see Trey’s huge thighs are situated on each side of my stool.  The close position makes us look like a couple.

Add that to the ball cap Jacoby has pulled low on his forehead, and we’re almost unnoticeable.  Almost.

“Hey, what do you want to drink?” Trey asks me a few minutes later, pulling me from my thoughts.  I got caught up watching a girl dancing between two guys, their bodies moving like the parts of a well-oiled machine.  I’m not a prude, I know people behave like that, but I can’t imagine myself acting that way, especially in a public place.  She sure seems to be enjoying herself, though, when she suddenly latches her mouth onto the guy grinding against her front.

“Um,” I freeze, unsure of what I’m supposed to do.

“She’ll have a water,” Jacoby butts in.

“Seriously?  Nothing to drink for you, Sweetheart?”  Trey isn’t letting it go.  I frown.  The endearment sounds all wrong coming from Trey.

Looking at Jacoby, I’m unsure what he wants me to do.  He seems so different than the authority figure he tries to be in school.  After the first few days of class I never would have imagined myself sitting at a bar on a Saturday night with my calculus teacher and his good friend.  He tried to order me water, but I want to push my limits with him tonight.  I wonder if I can bring out the Ryan I met two weeks ago.

“Actually, I’ll have a vodka cranberry.”

“What?”

“Sure.”

Jacoby and Trey answer simultaneously, and I have to hide my grin.  One drink won’t hurt, but it was worth seeing that look on Mr. Ryan’s face.

“Uh, yeah.  I need to unwind a bit.”

Jacoby tries to pin me with his stare, attempting to scold me with his coffee colored eyes.  Instead, I turn on the stool and face Trey to escape.

“So, Trey,” I smile sweetly at him.  “What do you do?”

“I’m in the military.  Army reserves now, although, I was on active duty up until last year.  I’m co-owner of the gym on Seventh Street.  So if you ever need a place to work out, I could help you out with that,” he finishes with a wink.

I giggle.  I can’t help it as the high pitched squeak escapes my mouth.  Part of me knows I’m flirting to irritate Jacoby, but it’s all fun and games.  For once, I feel like I’m acting my age, instead of the eighteen-going-on-thirty-five I’ve maintained for the past 6 months.