The Pros and Cons of Falling for London

Happy hour started during the quiz making the drinks two for one. The smart thing would have been to split the price of drinks. However, still drunk, quite literally, from the newfound freedom of being able to “legally” drink we decided to splurge and get two each.

I felt the alcohol taking effect halfway through the first one I bought. It was called a rainbow something. All I knew was that it contained seven different fruity liqueurs—one for each color of the rainbow. By the time I finished it I had reached the perfect level of drunkenness where I could hopefully ride out the buzz for the rest of the night with my other drink. Chione, on the other hand, had already decided she was planning to stay in tomorrow and therefore wanted to make tonight worth it. Leaving Max, our ever-present parent, no option but to stay moderately sober to get us home.

“The music isn’t terrible. Come dance with me!” Chione shouted over the vaguely pop music that played.

“I am not drunk enough for that,” I responded.

I hated dancing in public. I always felt like I was off-beat, or just looked weird. Even if no one paid me any attention it felt like everyone was watching me and judging.

“Then drink up, bitch! I don’t wanna be out there alone with all the guys. I need a buffer.”

A sense of feminist duty washed over me. While if guys didn’t normally attempt to dance with me, it’d happened once or twice. So, I knew the awkwardness when you didn’t have a friend around to save you if things got handsy.

“Plus, some of them are cute. And they have accents. Ooh la la,” she winked.

And shit, what those accents could make you say, as I knew from earlier.

“We are in London, not France you moron,” Max rolled their eyes.

“But I can still see your underpants!” Chione laughed, clearly feeling the effects of having a low tolerance.

I shrugged, “Here’s to getting pissed!” I raised my glass and drank the rainbow.

Max just shook their head in surrender. Guess I would be spending tomorrow in after all. Chione grabbed me and drug me out to the dance floor.

After thirty minutes of dancing, I needed a break and another drink. With my buzz wearing off I’d need another one or two to keep up with her. I tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the bar. She nodded in understanding. She attempted to yell over the music, but I couldn’t hear her. She pointed at Max and imitated a drinking sign. I gave her a thumbs up and headed to the crowd surrounding the bar.

While looking through the beverage menu someone bumped into me spilling their drink all over my shirt.

“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry,” said the guy.

Something about the British accent made me want to let him off the hook despite the fact he had just covered me in beer. I looked up and smiled. There was no way I was letting this go.

“Ahh, a native. Now it makes sense.”

His face lit up with surprise then delight.

“You, again. Apologies. Let me get your drinks.”

I shake my head, but he continues, “It’s the least I could do after I almost drowned you.”

I survey the mess that is my shirt, “It’s okay, really. Nothing a lot of laundry detergent can’t get out.”

“I insist. Truly.”

“No, seriously it’s fine.” Despite how good he looked, with his sleeves rolled a few times and a tattoo peeking out, I just wanted to get my drinks so I could go to the bathroom and attempt to dry off my shirt.

“Well, I have to get new drinks anyway, so try to stop me. I’m Ezra, by the way.”

“Amara. Do we shake hands now? I don’t know how to greet someone I bumped into who couldn’t be one-upped so he poured his drink on me when to return the favor.”

Ezra just laughed and held out his hand.

The bartender arrived as we turned around. He took one look at me and chuckled. I felt my face flush. How had I become the embarrassed one? Ezra asked for two more pints and told him to put anything I ordered on his tab, despite my protests. He shrugged and the bartender winked in a conspiratorial way—though I didn’t know with whom. Giving up, I ordered four more rainbow drinks and four shots. Seeing Ezra again had sobered me more than the dancing did. If I was going to make it through this night, there would need to be more alcohol involved. A lot more. Ezra’s eyebrows shot up when he heard my order.

I shrugged, “I told you not to pay for my drinks. I was buying shots for my friends over there.”

I pointed in the direction of our table. Max spotted me. Seeing I was with a guy, they threw me a worried face and a thumbs up. I smiled and nodded.

“Okay, well I guess all is fair in accidental body slams and spilled drinks.”

He smiled again and I couldn’t help but return. He wasn’t just nice to look at. He seemed nice and able to handle my verbal assaults.

My slightly altered mind started to wander. I wondered if he was always so nice. Luckily, before I could think about how soft those lips would be, the several walls I’d built over the years kicked in. I could look all I wanted, but that’s as far as I ever let it go. There were rules to follow—well, one really, but it was important. Never fall in love if you knew it was going to end. I had yet to date in college because I was only ever in Boston for a few months at a time. I spent the rest of my time in North Carolina. And it was only ever for a week here or a month there. Now, here I stood thinking about what it could be like to kiss this British guy. The distance between London and Wilmington was more than any location in the U.S.—assuming he even thought of me that way.

I needed to get out of my head. So instead, I steered the conversation to him, “So, what are you doing out tonight?”

He nodded in the general direction of a table on the opposite side of the pub of ours, “Grabbing a drink with some mates after work. You?”

“Our abroad program held a pub quiz for us here, after our seminar.”

“Ah, yes, the British lesson. How did that go?” he grinned.

“Surprise! The English are different from the Irish, Scottish, and Welsh. I don’t think I learned anything I didn’t already know. Except maybe that the official dish of England is actually chicken tikka masala.”

“Did you learn about Wetherspoons?”

I shook my head.

“What about where to get the best chicken tikka masala?”

“Nope. They just provided what the dish was, not where to get it.”

We kept talking as the bartender prepared the drinks. I don’t think we thought about how many beverages we ordered until he set them on the bar.

“Can I have a tray?” I asked.

He placed the tray onto the counter and turned to the other thirty or so patrons waiting to order. I balanced the four shots and four drinks on the tray one-handedly. Ezra quirked an eyebrow.

I shrugged and said, “Waitressing for two summers has its perks.”

I headed over to my table. Turning back, I saw him staring at me. I cocked my hip, “You coming? One of these shots has your name on it.”

“Yeah, I just need to let my friends know.”

Quickly and carefully, I head back to my table so I could brief Chione and Max and hopefully have enough time to get out of the beer-soaked shirt I was in.

When I got to the table, Max gave me a once-over and laughed, “So, successful drink run I take it?”

“I’d say so. He looked cute from over here. Does he have any friends?”

I had to give Chione props; she knew how to look out for opportunities.

I rolled my eyes at Chione's only care being whether or not he was cute, “Long story. I will tell you later. But he is coming over here. So. Be. Nice.” I said making it a point to look at them both.

When my stare lingered on them, Max got worried, “Oh, no. What?”

“Nothing. I just love how basic you are sometimes.” I grinned devilishly.

“Huh?” they asked genuinely confused.

“Give me your shirt.”

“No!”

“You can keep the flannel. I just want your tee. I need out of this shirt.”

“It doesn’t even match your outfit,” they complained.

“It will trust me. Just fork it over.”

Max mumbled something then begrudgingly they buttoned the flannel, took their arms out of their sleeves, then peeled off the tee while leaving the flannel on. Once off, they threw it at my face. I repeated the process, putting the shirt on before taking mine off.

“See it is all baggy and doesn’t match your pants,” Max said smugly.

“Hold on.”

I folded the sleeves over twice, then grabbed a large portion of the lower half and tied it into a knot at the center of the front creating a cute crop top out of it. Paired with my red and black plaid pants it came together how I hoped. Now to deal with my hair, which was kind of sticky and damp, I pulled it up creating the perfectly messy pony.

Chione took one look at me and shook her head, “I fucking hate you. This is how Max knew it didn’t take you an hour to get ready. It is like you had this as a back-up if you ruined your shirt.”

“I almost think I like it better than your other shirt,” Max offered their opinion.

I smirked.

“But don’t think that it means you can keep it.”

I opened my mouth to respond but Ezra arrived at the table. Unable to hold it in, I smiled, then shot one more death glare to my friends warning them to behave. Sliding into the end of the booth, I made room for Ezra next to me. Chione wagged her eyebrows at me, and I shook my head and hoped Ezra didn’t see.

He slid in next to me, leaned in, and whispered, “I like your new shirt. Sorry again for messing up your other one.”

The heat from his breath on my neck made me feel a little feverish. I needed a distraction.

“Ezra, this is Chione and Max. Max and Chione also known as Chi, Ezra,” I introduced them to each other. “Now that everyone knows everyone—shots.”

I handed them all a shot and we cheersed. After clinking them together Max, Chione, and I knocked them on the table before we drank them. As Ezra swallowed the shot, he gave us a puzzling look.

“What was that little thing you did there?” motioning between the three of us.

“It’s how you take a shot?”

“Why?”

My friends and I looked at one another. With no one able to come up with an answer, we burst out laughing.

Finally catching my breath, I responded, “I’m not actually sure, it’s just how it’s done.”

“I see leave the Londoner out of the loop,” he laughed good-naturedly.

“No, really. One of the first things you learn when you party in college is when you take a shot: after you click glasses then bring them down to the table before you drink them. We don’t get told why. It’s called up-down-up. I think it started ’cause of drinking games—like flip-cup. They want them to start fair or something so you have to bring the drink back down to the table before you can drink.” Chione shrugged, “Best explanation I can provide.”

Of course, our resident partier would have some insight.

Ezra stretched his arms out over the sides of the booth. The one nearest me grazed my shoulder and I jumped.

Max looked over and saw how flustered I was and nudged Chione, “We’re going to get some more drinks and shots. We’ll be right back,” leaving me and Ezra on our own.

Ezra turned towards me and scootched in closer, so he didn’t have to yell over the music. I leaned in too. More out of wanting to be nearer to him, not to hear him better. His body, now almost touching mine, smelt male in the best way. He smelled of pine, something citrus, and there was a lingering scent of an aftershave of some kind. Being so close to him I couldn’t help but let my eyes fall to his lips. They looked soft. I bit my lip. Don’t go there, I told myself. So, instead, I looked at his eyes. Eyes that had fallen to my own lips. That proved to be a worse idea. Up close his eyes were so much more than green. His eyes contained flecks of gold and blue which deepened the overall emerald look of them. They offset the dark olive color of his skin making them almost glow. Every aspect of this man seemed to tease my senses in some way.

We sat there for a minute. Staring, studying each other. I don’t know if the alcohol’s influence over me, but I started inching closer as if that would make the features of his face clearer. We were just barely not touching when I realized and pulled back. I cleared my throat needing to end the moment that was transpiring. I grab my drink, attempting to seem nonchalant, and take a long sip.

A minute passed before he finally spoke, “So, what are you studying while you’re here?” with no indication that something happened between us in his voice.

Mine, on the other hand, started a little hazy, “I’m a publishing major, not that I am taking any classes this semester. It’s pretty much an elective semester. None of the colleges I looked at offered any publishing courses for undergrad. So, I’m just taking a bunch of lit ones, which is funny ’cause normally I hate literature. I got into an Arthurian lit and a Shakespeare class, though, so those seem interesting. And I have a publishing internship. It just doesn’t count for any degree credits, but it’s something to add to my resume which is good.”

I told myself to stop talking, but my mouth didn’t seem to get the memo. This is why I didn’t mix drinking and guys; it removed the filter I barely had. My nerves only made it worse. After I managed to force myself to stop, I did the logical thing and turned the questions around on him. If he spoke, then I couldn’t.

“I’m actually twenty-five. Graduated with a business degree. Now I work a nine to five job where I make enough money to do the things I want to do,” he shrugged.

“And you don’t enjoy it?”

“I actually do. I’m just not doing something as creative and interesting as you. How did you get into publishing anyway?”

Fuck. That didn’t work. I cracked my knuckles—a nervous habit of mine. I savored the sound and feeling of release of the joints since it would be a while until I could do it again. I still felt jittery after cracking my knuckles, so I tightened my ponytail. Messing with my hair helped, it just didn’t ease the tension the way cracking my knuckles did.

“I used to love to write, still do,” I add as an afterthought, “but it’s not much of a career track. So, I figured major in publishing. That way if I wrote anything of consequence, I’d have some connections in the industry.”

Change the subject I silently pleaded. Thankfully he changed did. I didn’t want him to ask about my writing. It was too embarrassing.

Instead, he asked, “So, thanks to your lessons, do you feel like you know London well enough?”

“English culture? Maybe a little. But London? Not at all.”

“Would you like a tour guide?”

“Like to take me to all of the museums and stuff?”

“Of course not. I’d show you the real London. The kind that only natives know about. Like Wetherspoons and where to get the best tikka masala.”

Internally I was fighting myself. One side wanted nothing more than the man to show us around London, to find an excuse to spend more time with him. That side wanted to enjoy everything he offered and maybe more. But the scared side argued that he probably wasn’t even thinking about me in those terms. And on the off chance he was, I didn’t want to get my heart broken. The whole idea was dangerous. Either way, I’d end up falling for him.

Surprisingly and probably due to my lowered inhibitions, the first side of me won over. I flashed him a smile while I released my hair from its up-do, “Yeah. I’d love that.”

“Here, put in your number so I can text you,” he offered me his phone.

“Hold on. I have to look it up.”

Cocking his head to the side, he made a face and asked, “You don’t know your own number?”

I laughed at his confusion. “I got an English sim card. So, I got a new number. And, no, I don’t have it memorized, yet.”

“Okay, fair answer. I didn’t think of that.”

“Yeah, most people have iPhones but not everyone does. This way if I need to text someone who doesn’t have one, I’ll have the ability to.”

Luckily, Max and Chione returned preventing a continued discussion of iPhones versus Android.

They held three drinks each, four that looked to be water and two blue ones. As our conversation had continued, I drank two of the cocktails I’d ordered so I could keep my mouth busy. I felt a sense of relief at the waters. Just because we had plans to stay in tomorrow didn’t mean I wanted to throw up. The drinks had hit me, and I felt myself starting to get a little too drunk. Who had a conversation about iPhones and Androids while exchanging numbers?

“Please say two of those are for me.” I pointed at the waters.

“Well, I was thinking there were four of us and four waters, but…” Chione started.

“No worries,” Ezra said, “I don’t need one. I don’t quite think I am at the level you are on tonight.”

My chin dropped. Was Ezra making a comment on my drinking? Did I look like someone who couldn’t handle my alcohol? Chione and Max laughed awkwardly. I tried not to let the tears that I felt surfacing, build. He looked at me and his face turned red as mine realizing what he said.

“Sorry. I just- I meant that- what I’m trying to say,” he stuttered, “only that you guys seemed to be out here to have some fun.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he continued, “I planned on grabbing a pint or two with my mates. I was talking about mentally not, you know, that you are acting drunk.”

“Somebody, save the poor boy. He looks like he’s drowning.” Max intervened, saving him.

Ezra smiled sheepishly.

Chione chose this moment to add her input, “The funny thing is, he is the one who acted drunk—spilling his drink all over Mara.”

Ezra grimaced and finished the pint he’d been nursing, in one sip. His ears even started to pink a little. I couldn’t help but laugh at my amazing friends. Max joined immediately. Chione and Ezra followed swiftly. Soon enough we had to clutch our sides we were laughing so hard.

“Mara?” he asked.

“Yea, Amara, Mara, Mar, I respond to any of them.”

“So, Ezra, have any cute co-workers?” Chione asked, not interested in having a conversation about the various versions of my name.

“Is this your way of asking me if I’m gay?”

This time Chione flushed. Ezra smirked at her. That glint in his eyes told me he knew what she asked him, but he wanted a little revenge.

Max shrugged, “Hey, better to know now rather than down the road.”

“Yeah,” Chione, never one to back down from a challenge, dug in “no bother in wasting Amara’s time.”

Suddenly, I found the water in my hands very interesting. Why were they calling me out like that?

“Well, I promise, I don’t waste time. So, why are you asking about my mates?”

Ezra winked at me when he said he didn’t waste time.

“I want to dance, and I apparently need a new partner,” she responded while throwing a look my way.

“I wouldn’t mind doing a little dancing myself. It might help me, what phrase did you use?” I look at Ezra, “Get back to your level.” I could feel the friskier side of me taking over.

Max’s shoulders shuddered a little as they tried to hold in their laughter. Ezra shook his head and gave me a rueful look. Chione, already out of the booth, leaning on the table, and tapping her foot impatiently waiting for us to get a move on it, even cracked a smile.

Ezra led us through the pub to the other side, where his friends whooped and hooted as he brought three new people over to their table.

“I should have warned you. They’re animals.”

Chione flashed a dangerous smile, “Just how I like them,” she all but purred.

She eyed each one of them appreciatively before settling on a guy whom she deemed cute, but not the guy she was interested in. She enjoyed being chased. She did not chase after someone. As such she honed the perfect way to get the guys, she wanted to chase her. There was nothing like choosing the guy, whom a more attractive guy feels superior to, to get him begging for her attention. Walking right up to her second choice, she grabbed his hand and asked him to dance.

Max snorted as the guy we knew Chione wanted to ask her to dance made an incredulous face. Some of the other guys even looked surprised by who she chose. Apparently, the guy she snubbed was used to getting the girls. I turned to Ezra to hide my smile, knowing Chione would get him to dance with her before the night ended. Ezra looked at me and quirked an eyebrow. I mouthed to him that I would tell him later. Max, feeling like dancing too, grabbed one of the more innocent-looking guys of the group. Then we headed out to the dance floor.

Dancing with Ezra was nothing like I had ever experienced before. I felt no awkwardness as I danced with him. I threw one hand over his shoulder and just let my hips sway on their own accord. The music flowed over me as Ezra pressed against me moving to its rhythm.

I watched, feeling entertained, as Chione swapped out her dance partner for one of the other guys. But I stuck with that first guy I chose.

We danced for hours, sweating out the last of the alcohol in our systems. My heart seemed to be pounding to the beat of the music. I didn’t even know what time it was when Max came to get me.

“Hey, the app says our Uber is three minutes away so we’re going to go outside to wait on it,” they informed me.

I nodded to show I heard them then checked my phone. It was one in the morning. Turning to Ezra I motioned to the door.

“I’ll walk you out,” he shouted over the music.

Standing outside the pub and the wind blowing it was almost possible to pretend the chills I was feeling were a result of the cold air and not Ezra standing so close. Don’t fall for him. Don’t fall for him. Don’t fall for him. I repeated like a mantra in my head. Even if he was interested in me in that way there was no way for this to end happily. So logically, why bother?

He slid his hand into his pockets and pulled his shoulders up to his ears, “So, I’ll see you Saturday at five?”

I went to respond, but Chione, ever graceful, shouted from the open Uber door, “Hurry up or we are leaving your ass out in the cold!”

“Guess that’s my cue.”

I suddenly felt jumpy and relieved to have an excuse to leave Ezra standing there. Nothing made me more uncomfortable than when I didn’t know how to act in a given situation. Had I spent any more time talking to him, my mind would have been racing at how to end the night. With a hug? A handshake? Would he attempt a kiss? There was no way.

I turned to head to the car. Ezra reached out and grabbed my hand. Again, I jumped and his touch.

“Sorry. I just wanted to say it was a pleasure spilling my drink on you.”