“It looks terrible, does it hurt?” Jessica asked, leaning over and raising her hand. Before I could tell her stop, and that he didn’t want anyone touching it, she softly touched his cheek, then patted him on the shoulder. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t tell her not to do it, he just let her.
So it was me he didn’t want touching him. Well, no big surprise there. After all, I was the one who’d socked him.
“It hurts some, but I’ve got some painkillers, so I’m all set,” he replied.
“Well, if you’ve got painkillers then let’s get you something soft to drink. I bet you drink Perrier, right, Clark?” I teased, waving over our waitress.
He rolled his eyes. “I live three blocks away, I think I’ll make it home okay.” Instead of Perrier he ordered, “Scotch. Water. Neat.”
My eyes widened. That was my drink. When the waitress asked if anyone else wanted another round, I told her I’d have the exact same thing. Clark shrugged out of his jacket and I got another glance of tanned arms. Not popping out of his T-shirt like a meathead, but muscular nonetheless. And speaking of his T-shirt, it was covered in letters and numbers. As I peered closer, I realized it was the—
“Drake equation! Nice to see a fellow math nerd,” Ryan exclaimed, reaching over for a fist bump. Looking cautious but pleased to be doing it, Clark fist bumped back. A tentative smile on his face, he appeared to relax a bit. As relaxed as someone with a butterfly bandage could be.
“What’s the Drake equation?” Caroline asked.
I said, “It’s an algebraic equation that calculates the possibility of not only the existence of alien life, but also postulates their ability to be radio-communicative.” I took a bite of my pizza. “Mmmm.”
I realized it was quiet at the table when I heard Clark let out a very small but still audible whimper. His nose must be hurting. I looked at the rest of the table, and saw all the girls smiling at me, while Ryan and Simon just looked impressed.
“What?” I asked. “I hate it when everyone assumes that because I have tits, I can’t recognize something as simple as the Drake equation.”
Did I enjoy changing people’s perceptions of me? Me, with the piercings and the tattoos? Yup. Did I hate that people made assumptions about me? Yup.
Just as I was about to share this little nugget of Viv insight with the table, Caroline jostled Clark while reaching for her purse just enough that he bumped into me, his face turning toward mine in apology.
His eyes met mine and I noticed that what I’d mistakenly thought were the same boring brown eyes as Tom, Dick, and Harry were instead the exact color of rich dark chocolate, flecked with gold and a hint of green. I’d never noticed them before, what with the dusty glasses and the lecturing me about the house.
Dark chocolate was supposed to be good for you, right?
But I didn’t want good for you. I wanted bad for you—a passionate tryst, feelings and desires and things that were dirty and naughty and taboo. I mean, except for that one thing that seemed to be so popular these days. No one, not even the cowboy, was getting anywhere near my—
“Back door?” Clark asked.
“Excuse me?” I spluttered, choking on my Scotch. How did he, wait, did I say—
“I left you a note on your back door, about coming by tomorrow. Are you all right?” he asked, as I continued to choke a bit. “You really shouldn’t order Scotch if you can’t handle it—but most people can’t drink it straight like this. Shall I get you some soda?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Just went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.” I grimaced, gulping down some water. “You left me a note?”
“Yes, Vivian. I was able to dig up some of the original plans for the house. I can bring them by tomorrow if you like. I thought you might need them if you insist on proceeding with your changes.”
“Wait. Whoa. You want to bring me something that could actually help me?” I asked, a wry smile on my face.
“As opposed to what? Hurt you?” he asked, a hint of a grin on his lips. He pointed to his nose.
“Touché.”
I clinked his glass, and he downed his drink. Damn.
“I should get going, my pizza’s going to get cold. Lovely to meet you all. Vivian, I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“Call me Viv and you got it,” I replied. He gave me a puzzled look, then said his good-nights to the table. A moment after he left, Mimi and Caroline leaned in.
“Tomorrow? You just got to town and you already have a date? Nice work,” Caroline said, Mimi nodding her head excitedly.
“With Clark? Oh no, you got it all wrong. He’s the librarian.”
“He’s the librarian?” they said in unison, and I shushed them immediately. He hadn’t even made it to the door, for pity’s sake.
“They don’t make librarians like that where I come from,” Mimi said.
“Me either,” piped up Caroline.
“They don’t make them like that anywhere. That’s just part of why our little town is so fantastic,” Jessica added, and we all leaned out of our chairs just enough to watch him walking out of the bar, elbow patches glowing in the moonlight.
“He’s cute,” I allowed, sipping my Scotch. “But you’ll see the other side. You’ll see it tomorrow, when he picks a fight with me about some corner piece or whozit that he thinks must be restored and never thrown away, or the entire history of the world will be threatened by this one teeny tiny scrolly looking piece of bullshit I am trying to throw away in order to clean up my house and put it somewhat in order, but nooooo. No. Clark must save it—he must save it all.”