Posts Tagged ‘shots’

So, ArtKid and I parted ways that day, both of us confused about what had just happened.  Well, the confusion was well founded: ArtKid is my ex’s best friend… from high school.

Yes, things are very complicated.

Which makes the whole situation even MORE complicated.  We actually used to double together, though my ex (we’ll call him Mr. Image, because that’s all he really cares about) and whoever ArtKid had with him at the time always noticed that ArtKid and I had similar tastes in everything, whether it be architecture or music.  Both of us are kind of artsy (even though I go to an engineering school) and… well… there’s always been a very noticeable spark between us that we both pretty much ignored (even if our significant others did not).

… Until the second rendezvous.

That next day I went back to my dorm, took a shower, and proceeded to study for a few hours.  It was a fairly normal Saturday afternoon, and I was doing just about everything I could to take my mind off of ArtKid and his mind-blowing kisses (y’all, they gave me goosebumps).  Everything was find until I got the call that shot my entire weekend all to hell:

*ring ring*

Me: “Oh sh!t”

*ring ring ring*

Me: *groan, then answers* “Hello?”

ArtKid: “… Hey.  What are you doing?”

Me: “Studying.  What are you doing?”

ArtKid: “Nothing.  Just called to say hey.  I’m bored.  You wanna come over tonight?”

Me: *dropping books, flinging pencils to the floor, and packing a small bag simultaneously* “Umm, yeah, I think I can swing that… for a little bit at least.  Just give me an hour to tie up some loose ends.”  (Can’t let him think I actually want to see him!)

ArtKid: “Alright then.  Well, when you’re on your way, give me a call, ok?”

Me: *walking out of the door in my flyest last minute outfit* “Umm, ok.”

Ladies (and men), I had to scrounge for things to do for an hour!  I went and filled my car up with gas, vacuumed it, cleaned the truck out, put on two coats of lotion, painted my toenails (yes, in the parking deck), and programmed some numbers into my phone.  When an hour had finally passed, I cranked up my car, put in some Drake, texted ArtKid that I was on my way, racing down Northside, windows down, coils blowing, desperate to get closer to my dreams (however inappropriate they may be).

And before I knew it, I had arrived… and I was very afraid.

Afraid of what would happen if we kissed again, if I myself wasn’t sure how I felt about him.  What if Mr. Image found out?  Would I lose a (admittedly semi-toxic) friendship all to have something like a relationship with his friend?

After a few minutes of sitting in my car thinking, I texted ArtKid one word: “downstairs”.

Moments later we were in his apartment, talking about how much this past week sucked.  I was stressed about finals and he was stressed about work… and we took a shot each of E&J to “adjust our attitudes”… and talked for a while longer while the shots took effect.

For those of you out there who may be reading this, please know that alcohol doesn’t make me stupid (in small amounts), but it does make me very honest and forthcoming… which is not cool at all when it comes to my relations with men.

During a lull in the conversation, I looked up at him on the couch and asked, “What are we doing?  Aren’t you worried about Mr. Image?” to which he simply replied, “I don’t know”.  “What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?”  “I mean ‘I don’t know’.  I know that there’s something between us and that I like you.”  And thus began a make-out session unlike any other I have experienced in my few years of life, complete with delicate touches and eyes-open kisses (I don’t care what anybody says… that’s super-sexy).  And, because I had driven and taken a shot, I again stayed over, and he again held me while I slept.

The next day we woke up, got IHOP takeout for breakfast, and ate it on the roof of his building (which overlooks most of Atlanta) in the mid-morning Sunday heat.  Neither of us has approached the question of Mr. Image again, but we both recognize that we’ll have to tell him sooner or later.  We just sat on the roof, ate, and caked, sharing strawberries in the summer sun.

…That is, until my phone decided to ring.  It was Big Blue.  Wow.  I’d forgotten all about him.

Peace, Love, and Midnight Make-out Sessions,


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