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Sitting two seats away from her around a crowded table, he didn’t know how much longer he could take it. The night out had begun nicely enough. But now, three hours later, he was not enjoying himself in the least. Her friends were lovely. Hilarious, even. He was pretty sure his brothers would kill to be in company like this. A table full of smart, sarcastic, beautiful, confident women. Women who spoke of theater and politics and pop culture with equal facility. But he was so tense he couldn’t focus on anything but the men leering at Aisling.

He didn’t think he could keep it up any longer. The whole ‘friends’ thing was sapping him dry. Especially there, especially that night.

He knew, logically, that Aisling didn’t know what was going on around her. Didn’t even notice. But that didn’t make him any less angry. He was wildly jealous. And disgusted. The way they looked at her—like she was a well cooked steak, like they could eat her alive—it made his stomach feel sour.

He thrust himself out of his seat, pushing it back from the table and striding toward the door. He needed air. He didn’t even look behind him when he heard the grinding of chairs across the floor and her voice excusing herself, apologizing for climbing over people in a rush. She caught up to him halfway up the stairs to the entrance, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around to face her.

“Joe, what is your problem?!”

“How can you not notice?”

“Notice what? You? I notice you, I do. I’m just trying to give you some space after…”

“No, I mean…all these guys. The way they look at you. It’s disgusting.”

“What guys? Not a single guy has come up to me tonight.”

“They’re all looking. All of them. Like, like you’re some piece of meat and I just—“

“Joe, who cares? Let them stare. I look hot,” she half laughed then, a smile lighting her face. The sound was like a knife to the heart. She did look hot. “Too bad none of them have the balls to come up to me…” she trailed off.

He’d been looking at his toes for a moment, trying to calm down, but his eyes shot up to hers at her last comment.

“You want some guy who treats you like that?”

Memories of Big Blonde at his listening party flooded back to him, uninvited. Then the vision he’d conjured up of the man she’d left a bar with weeks ago. He began to wonder about her. Think things he never thought he would, or could think about Aisling. About her character. It made him more angry. Angry at her, and worse, angry at himself.

“Joe, I was kidding, please. Calm down.”

“I don’t understand how you’re not noticing this. How you’re not angry about this.”

“Joe, look at me. I don’t look like other people,” she yanked at a chunk of her hair, “People have been staring at me my entire life—men, women, kids… You learn to tune it out. I just don’t see it anymore. Do you still notice all the girls staring at you all the time?”

He hated her for being logical. This was not about logic. This was about how his heart had been tied into a bowline knot. How he couldn’t get it out.

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“Forget it.”

“Come on, Joe, you’re being ridiculous. This was supposed to be a fun night out. Weren’t you the one complaining about how we never GO anywhere?”

“Ridiculous?! Well excuse me for not enjoying sitting around and watching a bunch of former-frat-boys leer at you.” He paused for a second, dropping his voice and narrowing his eyes, “You know what, I think you like it. I think you want to be treated that way.”

She heard every word. He’d meant her to. In the silence between them, he let his eyes sweep down the low v of her shirt deliberately, lingering on her cleavage before looking back up at her.

“And so what if I do?” she asked, defiant. She stepped into his space, backing him against the wall in the narrow stairwell. “It’s my body.”

“It’s disgusting.”

At first she didn’t respond, but her eyes said it all. They literally darkened as she leaned even closer to him, locking his gaze. His mouth fell open just slightly. He could feel her breath on his lips. It was impossible to slow the pounding of his heart in his chest. It felt painfully constricted, as though still knotted up, and the beating only made it worse. He wanted to grab her and kiss her so badly the urge was becoming difficult to master. He balled and un-balled his hands in fists at his side.

“Don’t you ever speak to me that way again,” she seethed, and began to descend the stairs away from him.

It felt good to know he’d made her angry. Made her feel something. Something like what was coursing through his veins. He pretended not to feel badly for what he’d said, and worse, what he’d implied by saying it. Instead he reached for her arm, squeezing his fingers around her bicep tightly. She turned back to face him, eyes flashing.

“Let go of me, Joseph. Now.” She wrenched her arm out of his grasp violently. “Don’t come back until you’re done acting like an asshole. I’d rather deal with the creeps down there; at least I know what they’re after.”

***

After sitting on a stoop, pumping his leg up and down angrily for upwards of ten minutes, he decided to take a walk around the block. By the third loop, the bouncers were beginning to stare at him strangely, but he was finally feeling calm. Guilt was beginning to settle in, and he knew he needed to find Aisling and apologize. What he’d said to her had been terrible. Terrible on so many levels he couldn’t even begin to innumerate them all. He felt disgusting. What he’d said implied that he believed the same things about her that those men leering at her in the bar did. And he didn’t believe them at all, even for a second. He’d said something he didn’t mean, purely to hurt her, which was probably the lowest thing he’d ever done.

Though they said nothing, the bouncers continued to look at him strangely as he flashed them his stamped end and re-entered the lounge. As he descended the stairs he started planning what he would say to her, how he would apologize. Rounding the corner and emerging from the staircase he could immediately see the table where Aisling and her friends were seated, and although he could not see her yet, his heart rate rose.

A tall, narrow black man was standing near the table, facing the area where he knew Aisling was seated beside Laura. The man was making strange gestures, hands waving through the air in odd, halting patterns. As he continued his approach to the table, he could tell the girls were bristling with irritation. A tall strawberry blonde—Kirsten, he recalled—got up from her seat and approached the man just as he came level with the table.

“Listen, asshole, we already told you to go away. If you don’t leave, I’m going to have the bouncer kick you out,” she hissed.

He glanced at the table and saw Aisling looking down, hands over her chest, hair a curtain around her. Laura had a hand on her shoulder.

“Dude, what are you doing?” he asked, stepping close to the man and drawing himself to his full height.

The answer was unintelligible.

“Look, I think these ladies asked you to leave. Please, just go.”

“I wanted to speak with the redhead.” The man said, his words garbled and heavily accented, as he pointed at Aisling.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you. Now leave, or we’ll have to take this outside,” he spoke the words knowing full well he could not follow through on his statement. He stepped even further into the other man’s personal space, hoping to intimidate him.

“You heard him,” said Moh—the only other man with the group—returning from the bar to stand beside him. He was glad for backup. “Go.”

Just as he was about to reach out and push the man, a refrigerator sized gentleman reminiscent of his own bodyguards appeared and grabbed the man by the arm. Kirsten must have gone to find the bouncer while he was talking. He wanted to feel relieved. But the vision of Aisling’s head hanging remained at the back of his mind as he watched the bouncer escort the foreign man to the exit.

His heart sank when he turned to Aisling. Her head was still down. Her hands were knotted together in her lap. Noticing that someone had vacated the seat next to her, he pulled the chair closer and reached for her cheek as he sat.

“Hey, Ash, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said very softly, he had to read the words from the movement of her lips.

“Doesn’t look like it… What happened?”

“That guy, he kept coming back. We kept asking him to go and…it was mostly just annoying until he started making shadow puppets on my chest.”

“He what?!” It didn’t seem realistic, or even possible…then he thought back to the strange gestures the man had been making.

“He was making shadow puppets…it was…” she stopped, cheek in his hand, eyes still cast down at her lap.

“Ash,” he dipped his head, searching for her eyes, “it was rude, but he’s gone. Come on, we’re supposed to be having fun. Smile for me, kid.”

Ash looked up, but did not smile. Tears were welled up around the rims of her eyes but she continued fighting them valiantly.

“It’s not really about him. It’s about… You were wrong. I don’t like to be treated like that. It makes me uncomfortable. It makes me feel—”

“I was wrong, Ash, I was so wrong. I should never have said any of that stuff. I didn’t mean any of it and I don’t even know why I…I’m just sorry,” he finished, feeling miserable, their eyes still locked. Feeling for the first time just exactly how miserable he’d made her feel. “I’m sorry.”

For the longest time, she said nothing. He pulled his hand back from her cheek, began twisting his fingers together in knots in his lap. He deserved to squirm and he knew it.

“You were an ass,” she began. He deserved that too. “But I don’t really want to talk about it. Can we just get out of here?”

“Sure thing, kid, where do you want to go?” he looked up, eyes meeting with Laura’s over Aisling’s shoulder.

“Hey, how bout we all go somewhere else…what about Barramundi?” Laura spoke up, addressing the table. “This place is tired.”

Everyone agreed to leave and after some shuffling of belongings, they began to file out the exit and up the stairs to the street. Laura and Bridget lead the pack with the others following behind in random groupings. He hesitated, falling into step with Aisling at the back of the crowd and sliding an arm around her waist. He was pleased when she did not pull away from him.

“I’m sorry, Ash.” He said, leaning toward her as he spoke.

“This isn’t the time,” she said, speaking first to him, then in a lower tone to herself, “Let’s just pretend everything is fine…a few more drinks and everything will be fine…”

She ran a hand through her hair, the motion releasing the perfume of her shampoo into the air around them. He inhaled slowly, deeply, taking her in. His heart swelled as her head came to rest on his shoulder. They followed quietly behind the group, and with each step they took forward, his guilt and jealousy dissipated, replaced with a sense of certainty he hadn’t felt around her in weeks.