Just Friends With Benefits (2 page)

Rufus motioned towards me, “What can I get you?”

“A pitcher of Bud Light and two glasses, please. Thanks,” I said.

As I watched him soak a dirty pitcher in soap suds, rinse it with water and fill it with beer, I said, “Actually, can I also get two shots of tequila? Salt and lime, too?”

Rufus nodded knowingly. “Gonna be that kind of night, huh?”

Fearing it might take more than beer to afford me the altered sense of self-confidence required to utter a single word to Craig, I confided, “I hope so.”

Jana, in the meantime, was poking me in the side. “Which one is he?”

I whispered, “The tall guy in the flannel shirt.”

After doing a 360 of the room, Jana blinked at me. “Not helpful.”

I turned away from Rufus and pretended to scope out the entire bar. Among at least ten other tall guys wearing a flannel shirt, I spotted Craig. “Green flannel. Puppy dog eyes.” I quickly turned back towards Rufus, grabbed our shots and said, “Ready?”

“Ready,” Jana said. “To Stephanie finally making the moves on her lust man!”

When the luke-warm tequila hit the back of my throat, I shivered involuntarily and quickly sucked the juice from the lime. I chased the shot with a few hearty gulps of beer before asking Jana, “So, what do you think of him?”

Shrugging, Jana said, “Not my type. Too clean cut for me, but cute in a geeky sort of way, I guess.”

Jana was a Goth wanna-be. She dressed in all black and her makeup application consisted of thick black liquid eyeliner. Despite her attempt to look dark and brooding, her baby thin platinum blonde hair and big blue eyes made her look more like a tourist from one of the Scandinavian countries dressed up for Halloween. Jana preferred the local artsy lounges downtown to the fraternity college bars but was sick of hearing me analyze Craig’s intentions. When I’d insist it must mean something that Craig said goodbye to me and only me at the end of every class, she’d just roll her eyes. I wasn’t sure if she really cared whether or not I hooked up with Craig or if she just wanted me to shut up about it, but she agreed to come with me that night for moral support.

While we drank our first pitcher, I half listened to Jana tell me about the fine, twenty-something teaching assistant in her Anthropology class and tried unsuccessfully not to check on Craig’s status every couple of minutes to make sure he was still in the same place and not making out with some chick.

“Don’t keep staring at him like a deer in headlights, Stephanie! It’s so obvious,” Jana said, shaking her head. “Either make eye contact and smile or don’t look at him until you’re ready. Hurry up, by the way. I heard Joe’s going to Valentines tonight.”

Willing myself not to look over at Craig again, I asked, “Who’s Joe?”

“My hot TA! Have you been listening to me at all?”

I kicked off the stray cocktail napkin which had attached itself to the back of my foot and muttered, “I can’t concentrate. Sorry. One more pitcher?”

“You owe me one,” Jana said, before heading back to the bar.

While Jana got Rufus’s attention, I observed Craig standing quietly to the side while his friend monopolized a conversation with two girls. I wondered who he was thinking about and wished it was me.

I raised my hands to the sides of my head to make sure no stray hairs had escaped my ponytail. When Jana returned with our pitcher, I asked, “Do I look okay?”

Jana, who was more experienced with men and couldn’t seem to relate to a college freshman who was still a virgin, snorted. “You’re far prettier than you give yourself credit for. And I’d kill for those raven locks,” she said. “Yes, you look great. Go for it.”

My stomach dropped. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

As Jana refilled her beer glass and topped off mine, she said, “No. You’ll look cooler if you go over to him on your own.” Then she motioned towards Craig and gently pushed me in his direction.

I momentarily missed high school when it was more than acceptable for my friends to accompany me everywhere, whether to the bathroom or to make a move on a new guy. I felt safety in numbers. I knew Jana would not be persuaded to tag along with me and since I was afraid Craig might actually favor Jana’s Kelly over my Brenda, I took a deep inhale and approached where he was standing. I took one last glance behind me and made eye contact with Jana. She mouthed “go for it” and flipped over a napkin on which she had drawn the Nike swoosh logo and the words “Just Do It.”

As the space between me and the back of Craig’s green flannel shirt got smaller, I wasn’t positive I’d survive the encounter, but then I remembered the time my voice cracked while singing a solo at the Spring Concert in fifth grade. It was years before my classmates stopped calling me Peter Brady, yet I was able to live through the experience and even maintain relative popularity throughout junior high and high school. Worst case scenario, Craig would humiliate me in front of his friends, but I knew I’d live through that, too.

I tapped him on the back and, when he turned around, said, “Hey. You’re in my Criminal Justice class, aren’t you?”

His initial reaction was a blank stare and, feeling foolish, I pinched my arm hoping I was dreaming. But then he grinned. “Yeah, I am. I’m Craig.”

I gave him a toothy smile, wishing I was cooler and said, “I’m Stephanie.”

Craig extended his hand toward mine and I absently shook it while trying to think of what to say next.

“Who do we have here, Hille?”

I removed my hand from Craig’s and looked at his shorter friend and then back at Craig. I repeated, “Hille?”

“No one calls me Craig,” he said. “Hille’s my last name.”

“Who’s Craig?” joked the shorter friend.

Hille looked from me to his friend and said, “Stephanie, this is Paul. Paul, this is Stephanie.”

Torn between wishing he’d leave me alone to talk with Craig and relief for the facilitation of conversation, I said, “Hi, Paul.”

His teeth as pearly white as Hille’s, only the bottom row slightly crooked, Paul smiled. “Hi, Stephanie. Haven’t seen you around these parts before.”

I had been there for lunch once when my older brother Sam came to visit with his girlfriend Amy. Nonchalantly, I said, “I’ve been here a few times.”

“You should come to our house parties. The more cute girls we have hanging around, the more guys who want to pledge us.” Chuckling, he said, “Not that we’d let the pledges actually speak to you. They’d be too busy manning the keg or cleaning the toilets.”

“So, who are you here with?” Hille asked.

“My roommate. She’s over there.” I pointed in the direction of where I had left Jana but her seat was now empty except for several rain-soaked umbrellas in varying colors and sizes. I looked back at Hille and Paul and said, “Well, she was over there.”

“Maybe she went to the bathroom,” Hille suggested.

“Or maybe she’s with one of the bartenders on the dirty mattress they keep downstairs with the kegs,” Paul said.

A smile playing at the corners of his mouth, Hille said, “Ignore him. He’s a pig.”

Hille’s scarlet lips were wet like he just bit into a juicy apple and I wanted nothing more than to ignore his friend Paul. But Paul kept talking and the more he talked, the quieter Hille became. I played along mostly because Paul was entirely responsible for keeping up the momentum of the dialogue and without him, I was afraid the conversation would implode, along with any hope of a relationship with Hille.

“So, tell me Stephanie. Do you like live music?” Paul asked.

“Of course,” I said. “Well, it depends on the band, I guess.”

“Does it have to be a band? What about a solo artist?”

I had no idea where this line of questioning was leading and wished Paul would get to his point. “Again, it depends on the artist.”

“Well, how about this artist?” Paul put his beer down. Then he removed his Yankee baseball cap, ran his hands through his dirty blonde hair and started singing, “If it weren’t for Cotton-Eye Joe, I’d been married a long time ago. Where did you come from where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe?”

As he sang, he did a little jig and I looked over at Hille with my hands covering my mouth, unable to contain my laughter. Hille released a quick chuckle before shaking his head at Paul and taking another sip of his drink.

After his performance, Paul put his baseball cap back on and resumed drinking his beer. “So, what did you think?”

I clapped and Paul took a bow. “Amazing,” I said. “When are you going on tour?”

Paul removed his cap again and bowed his head at me. “Any day now, pretty lady. Any day now. Wanna be a groupie?”

“Perhaps,” I said giggling.

I briefly forgot Hille was standing there until he said, “I think I’m gonna get out of here.”

I wanted to say, “Don’t go” but figured that would be a bit much since I’d just met him. So I said, “Really? It’s still early.”

Paul slapped Hille on the back and said, “The guy’s a nerd. Probably going home to study. Gotta maintain that 4.0 GPA.”

“4.0, huh? I’m impressed,” I said.

Turning red, Hille said, “Paul here exaggerates. Not going home to study. Just kind of beat, that’s all. Nice meeting you, Stephanie. See you in class.”

“Bye, Craig. I mean Hille!”

I watched him walk toward the exit, stopping momentarily to put his empty beer glass on the bar. Realizing my mission was unsuccessful and I had just about enough money to grab a slice of pizza on the way back to the dorm, I turned to Paul and said, “Well, I think I’m gonna head out, too. As soon as I find my roommate.”

“Nah! Let me buy you another beer,” Paul said. “Maybe I’ll even sing for you again.”

I pulled on my ponytail as if I thought it might have gone somewhere and locked eyes with Paul. Not waiting for an answer, he re-filled my beer glass and winked at me.

As “Sweet Caroline” played in the background and hordes of my peers chanted, “Good times never seemed so good. So good! So good!” I decided Paul’s grayish-green eyes were kind of pretty, shrugged my shoulders and said, “What the hell.”

November, 2009

After the waitress uncorked the two bottles of wine we had ordered to celebrate Hope’s 25th birthday, one red and one white, we chanted in chorus “Speech! Speech! Speech!”

The pale skin beneath her freckled face, already flush from the bottle of wine we shared at Eric and Jess’s house, turned a deeper shade of red as Hope stood up to make her toast.

“Okay, okay. Simmer down, people!” Hope waited for us to stop chanting. We were all buzzed so it took a while but eventually we stopped pounding our fists against the table, put down our utensils and let Hope speak.

“I want to thank you all for joining me at my birthday celebration.” Turning to her sister, she said, “Although Jess, as my closest blood relative, you’re kind of obligated. And Eric, as Jess’s husband, you didn’t really have a choice, either. And Paul, well if you want to get laid later, you had to be here, too. So, I’d just like to thank Stephanie for taking the train from D.C. to Philly to celebrate with me. Mwah! And, Hille, it was really cool of you to drive here from New Jersey. You guys rock. Happy birthday to me!” Hope took a sip of her wine and sat down.

Standing up with his glass raised, Paul said, “Well, that speech really sucked, but since you’re practically ten years younger than the rest of us, we’ll let it slide.”

“Ahem! I’m only seven years older than her, not ten!” I said.

Dismissing me, Paul said, “Same thing, Cohen.”

I looked at Hille, who was sitting across from me and rolled my eyes. He smiled and gave me a knowing glance.

I smiled back thinking Hille was even cuter now than he was back in college. He was practically the only brother from his fraternity who didn’t have a receding hairline and, unlike Paul, the years of drinking beer hadn’t reached his gut.