Have you ever had one of those nights when you ask yourself the following day, why did I do that?
Not only did I have one of those, but so did my favorite bartender.
“He just didn’t seem like your type, Celebrity.”
No, he wasn’t my type. But, not to worry, because the only thing I was found guilty of was talking to someone for too long at my favorite Irish pub. I know it must be hard to watch the owner’s sister walk in and sit at your bar and not feel responsible for her. Therefore, I apologized for making my friend and bartender (The Belfast Bartender) worry about me that one night.
I confess, I was bored that night and of course there was beer. Did I mention I was bored? It was just one of those evenings when I had nothing to do and I didn’t want to go home and sitting next to me was a young guy who was also alone. It happens, because in an Irish pub, it’s customary to have a conversation with perfect strangers.
I know how to handle myself. When the guy pressured me for my phone number, at least I’m smart enough to maybe
accidentally on purpose given him the wrong phone number when I left.
“I know. I was clearly a little bored that night. I know you have my back and that’s why I like coming here. Moving forward, in case this ever happens again, I’m telling you right now that I’m giving you full permission to break up anything you think is out of character for me, okay?”
Which leads me to my next story….
*FAST FORWARD A FEW MONTHS*
“You look great tonight, Celebrity,” Belfast Bartender said as he walked around the bar to give me a hug.
I felt great. I was happy to be out of the house and it was a perfect autumn night to slip into my favorite pair of jeans and break out my favorite tall boots.
Plus! I had JUST washed my hair.
I ordered my beer from Belfast and stood at the end of the bar near the waitress station. To my right, half way down the bar, I couldn’t help but notice a group of people. I didn’t recognize any of them, but it was hard to see with the lights being turn down so low — you know, for ambiance.
(Who wants to be in a brightly lit bar? Not me.)
“Oh, geez,” I said to the waitress. “We have a Stage 4 cling-on situation at three o’clock. Do you know who that is staring at me?”
“I’ve never seen him before. But he is definitely starting at you. Good luck with that,” she said and walked away.
The fact that I was there by myself, and my friends hadn’t showed up yet, made me feel just a teensy-weensy bit uncomfortable. I reminded myself that as long as the Belfast Bartender was working, I knew he’d have my back.
There’s never anything one can do about someone staring at you, so I decided to have a seat at the bar. Just as I started to walk towards the stool I had picked out, the man who was staring at me yelled over to me with a thick accent, “My God, baby. Come over here.”
It was more like a pur than an accent.
But, whatever it was, it was sexy as hell.
So, I played out my response for a second.
You know the, who me?
Oh, you meant me?
As if I didn’t know…
With my best model walk, I slowly moved past the few people standing at the bar and walked toward the man.
He greeted me with a huge smile and perfect teeth.
“Yes, baby…hello….where are you from? My God you are gorgeous!”
I was gorgeous?
He was gorgeous!
But it was his sexy-ass accent that totally had me captivated. And, even with my 3.5” high heeled boots on, he was still slightly taller than me.
“You are too funny,” I smiled coyly at him. “Where are you from?”
With a twinkle in his eyes, his velvety voice purred, “I’m from Costa Rica, but I live in Florida now.”
We stood there smiling and admiring each other. It was one of those rare instances where you meet someone and just like that you click.
Call it chemistry, mutual admiration, or what you want, but it was definitely there.
“My God, baby. Are you married? Single?! Whaaaat?” he said eyeing me up and down like a flamboyant artist who just unveiled his masterpiece. “I can’t believe someone like you lives here…”
“Yes, yes, well thank you. I grew up here,” I started to explain, which probably sounded more like an apology than a reason. “But, I actually really do love living here.”
“You don’t look like you are from here.”
“Thank you. I used to live in New York City and Los Angeles.”
“Why would you leeeeeave, baby?”
But the real question was, what was he doing here in my small New England town?
I didn’t get too far contemplating a reason why this gorgeous man was in my small town. My thoughts were quickly interrupted by the short woman standing next to Mr. Costa Rica.
“Hello,” she said while extending her hand toward me, “I’m his realtor. He and his husband are looking to buy property here.”
And there it was, the potential fun-factor had just been dialed down to a big, fat zero.
….or so I thought.
Having a husband and being gay apparently wasn’t going to stop Mr. Costa Rica from flirting with me. Instead, he laughed off his realtor’s announcement and continued to make my night by making me feel like the most gorgeous creature on Earth.
“Yesssss, my husband is a doctor and we’re looking at investment property up here…..my God, you are gorgeous!”
Gay or not, one thing was for sure, he had an air and style that only came from living in a big city.
I turned to look at Belfast Bartender standing behind the bar. “Would you like another beer? Everything okaaaay?”
“Everything is great,” I said beaming back at him. “And, I’m great with the beer I have now, thank you. I don’t think I should have another one.”
I turned my attention back to Mr. Costa Rica who was still admiring me.
And just like that, it happened.
Our eyes locked.
I felt his strong hand slip around my waist.
He stepped in closer to me…
….then he looked down at my mouth…
….and looked back into my eyes…
….slowly, he tilted his head…
….and looked back down at my mouth….
….just like in the movies…
….parted his lips and put his beautiful mouth on mine…
….and it was fantastic!!!!!
In the middle of this slow make-out session (mind you) in the middle of my brother’s bar, I heard the slam of Belfast Bartender’s hands on the counter and my nickname yelled out loud, “Celebrity!”
“Hey!” the realtor shouted, as if trying to break up two dogs in heat.
Reluctantly, I pulled away from Mr. Costa Rica and with my head swirling with the surge of endorphins, I managed to say, “Oh my God that was fantastic.”
“But he’s gay!” the realtor shouted at me. “And he’s maaaaarried!”
She made me feel like a child being scolded, but I figured that as long as my brother was nowhere in sight, and not working, I didn’t really care. As far as I was concerned, I was in the clear.
(Look, I’m not one to makeout with a stranger in a bar–that’s definitely not my style. However, not having had a proper makeout session with a man in months….possibly years, I figured the slight embarrassment that I had just caused myself, and possibly my brother, was well worth it.)
As we stood there smiling at each other and taking in the moment we just had, I could tell the realtor was about to do damage control.
Because as fast as it started…
It was over.
Looking pretty damn miffed, the realtor grabbed her client’s hand and quickly dragged him out of the bar.
I was left standing there feeling speechless…
….and warm all over.
Dazed, I looked over at Belfast Bartender who was leaning on the bar with both hands, slowly shaking his head in disapproval, as if to say, what am I going to do with you?
“I’m sorry!” I blurted. “He just grabbed me and started making out with me. How is this my fault?!”
If Belfast Bartender knew anything about me…he knew that was code for: Please don’t tell my brother!