If you can’t find the Intro to this post, you need to not be on the interwebs. Sigh… fine. Scroll down one post or click here.
Up until now, FNO is a story that only my closest and most trusted friends have heard. Be gentle.
That night was steamy and humid, and I remember cursing the natural wave in my (then blond) hair. Typical. I was going to be frizzy for my celebration. You see, I had just made a life-changing decision – to fly South. For good. It was my last hurrah in the big bad Northeast with my girls.
We all met up after work on a Friday, pre-gamed with beers over takeout, and then changed into our paint-the-town outfits. When I reappeared in the living room, my girls cat-called me and asked me why I didn’t wear this outfit more often?!?! I glanced down at my black halter top, gray skinny jeans and strappy leather 4″ stilettos… and shrugged. It wasn’t my normal comfy jeans/t-shirt style. It was just one of those nights where you know you could rock it. I felt good.
Off we went to the corner bar – a tiny Irish pub complete with a bar table. One of my girls and I immediately beelined for and commandeered the table (yes, legitimately…we won it.) while the other girls got the first round. When I was handed a pint glass full of RedBull and Grey Goose, that bitchy little inner voice screamed at me “HELLO, DO NOT DRINK THAT, ARE YOU INSANE?!?” Then I squished her from my mind and went back to kicking ass at pool. One of those drinks later, I’m leaning down low over the table for a killer shot (still solid and steady in my stilettos) and I see in my peripheral a hand slap quarters down on the table less than a foot from my face. Hello, Pool Etiquette 101 – do. not. fuck. with. the. shooter. I stood up quickly, eyes fiery and prepared to give this asshole a piece of my mind.
And…Whoa. In my direct line of sight was a very muscled display of pectorals under a tight black tshirt. At 5’9′, I’m not accustomed to having to look UP to any man, but I did with him. Even in my 4″ heels! I arrogantly lifted my chin and ….dammit… his face is gorgeous too. But I was still spitting mad, so I just glared up at him and said with a toss of my head, “the board is over there. Put your name down.”. He sneered down at me and said, “What?”. I rolled my eyes and repeated, slower this time and oozing sarcasm, “The board. It’s over there. You have to sign up. To play.”. Without a word he grabbed his quarters, turned on his heel and walked away.
But he watched me. In all fairness, he kind of had to. My partner and I were dominating every duo foolish enough to challenge us to a game. We kept winning, over and over. Drinks kept being brought to me….ohhhh, I forgot how GOOD RedBull/GreyGoose is…and we must have destroyed 7 or 8 other teams by that point. When suddenly, I see a guy I know dropping the balls to rack our next game. We say hello and then I’m stunned when MuscleTee appears at his side, chalking up a cue and grinning obnoxiously at me. Oh SHIT. That’s his partner? GAME ON.
To be continued…