This story is pretty basic. The male lead is, as always, based off of someone real (real sexy). And have you ever been kissed by someone that's been drinking RumChata? They should probably just call it "YumChata" and be done with it.
*****
His hair was a dark blonde, short, and tidy in a simple barber cut that maybe ran him $12 with tip. When I first met him I thought that his eyes were blue, but upon further and closer investigation, I realized that only the outer edges were a typical icy hue. Half-way in, they began to hint at a true, rich forest green. When he smiled, he would show off his ivory-white imperfectly straight teeth. When he wasn't smiling, the corners of his mouth were subtly turned upwards. His lips were soft-looking and full, but not too full. They didn't distract from those not-just-blue eyes. A day's worth of scruff dusted his chin and jaw. Near his right ear, on his cheek, there was a white, thin line- a scar- about an inch long, horizontally placed most likely from some work-related accident. It looked like it probably had required stitches. The cool winter air had turned the skin of his cheeks a bright pink that still lingered, despite the warmth of the room.
This novel-worthy description flashed though my head faster than water held in a paper bag as I watched him- Galvin- take a large gulp from the bottle of RumChata he held in his left hand and wipe his mouth with his right. He offered me the bottle. I switched my beer to my left hand and took a modest sip of the cinnamon-y liquor before handing it back. Galvin smiled at me, before continuing the loud conversation he was having with a Jason and Matt about an old truck Matt was restoring. We were in the kitchen of the house that Jason and Galvin shared. The current yelling on carburetors ("stock carb" this, "buying one on eBay," that) was uninteresting to me, but I was more than satisfied to stand there and just be near Galvin. I was also more than tipsy at this point, but it was nice. I knew I had a smile plastered on my face and the room felt very warm as it always does after I've had a few. I took another sip of beer.
I was mildly aware of Matt's phone buzzing then, as he pulled it out of the front pocket of his very dirty jeans and flipped it open.
"My lady wants me home," he sighed. "I gotta go." Lifting his Busch Light can to his lips, he downed the rest of it quickly and threw the empty in the garbage under the kitchen sink.
"She must want some," Jason laughed.
"Good one," I put in, smiling at Matt as he headed out the side door.
"See you fuckers later!" he called from outside, before the door slammed shut. We heard the engine of his old Chevy pickup start and I turned back around.
"Kelly will be here soon," Jason said, plopping down in a chair he pulled out noisily from the table. He unlaced his boots and yanked them off. My nose wrinkled at the thought of the tall blonde. "I know, Lena. She's a real bitch. But she's a good fuck," he teased. He stood up, removing his hat and smoothing his dark hair before casually tossing the hat onto the table and pushing in his seat. "Don't get too crazy, kids," Jason directed at Galvin and I as he grabbed another Busch from the fridge and sauntered off to his room down the hall. I sighed and pushed my hair back behind my shoulder. I gestured for the bottle of liquor still in Galvin's hand and he handed to me. I took a sip.
"So..." I trailed off, keeping my eyes focused on the wall above the stove. I didn't want to go home, dammit!
"Want to watch a movie?" Galvin asked, taking back the bottle. He unscrewed the gold cap and set it down rather forcefully on the table. "We don't need this."
"Sure," I said, smiling and licking the dribble of RumChata I'd almost forgot to from my lip. I laughed a little and watched him tilt his head back and take another big draw from the white bottle. He flashed that smile at me and I felt a sharp tingle shoot down the back of my neck. I followed him down the hallway silently, and only running into the wall a little bit. His room was a pale green color and there were posters of cars and a Hooters calendar on the wall near the window. Jesus, I thought they'd put their A-game on the first month of the year!
I flopped down on the bed (a mattress on the floor and blue sheets and about six pillows) with a sigh, my beer spilling a little onto my jeans. I didn't say anything or really even care, because when I looked up, mouth open to speak, I saw Galvin pulling up his maroon, dirty work hoodie up over his head. His orange "Short Racing, #23" shirt rode up a little on his hip and my brain was back to that novel-worthy describing again, but with my further-intoxicated self, already less eloquent.
His skin was perfectly pale and smooth-looking, something I wanted to touch so badly. He was maybe six feet tall and slightly stocky in a masculine, very attractive way. I just wanted to jump on him and rip that stupid orange shirt off.
"I wonder what he looks like with it off," I mumbled to myself. As soon as I muttered those words, I know I turned a shade of hot pink that was very noticeable even in the dim light of the bedside car-themed lamp.
"What?" he looked up from the drawer he had begun digging through in a dresser topped with old beer cans, Copenhagen tins, and car parts.
"What?" I said in a small voice, sipping my beer.
"What did you just say?" he asked, pulling a pair of green plaid pajama pants out of the drawer and standing upright. I looked around the room as if the pile of dirty laundry by the closet or the beat-to- shit lime-covered boots under the window would help me find something to say. I set my can next to the car lamp and grabbed a pillow off the bed and held it in my lap. The room was silent. I picked up my beer again and took another sip as I thought of a good response.
"I didn't say
shit
