Samuel Simons vs. one hot™ guy

Over the next couple of weeks, every time I go to the pub, either with Matt or alone, I keep seeing that blonde stranger. Every time he seems to have a new date, guys, girls, everyone outside and inbetween, and that's when I notice how much of a prick this guy probably is. Picking people up just to drop them after one night isn’t exactly nice, respectful behaviour. It’s also when I notice that, every time I see him, he seems to look more and more tired. One time, when me and Matt had come out after work on a Friday evening, he couldn’t even manage to put on what I call his trademark playboy smile, and whoever he was with lost interest pretty quickly at how distracted he was getting, and how little he was responding to what they were saying. He kind of just sat there afterwards in disappointed silence until he finished his drink.

‘God, that's kind of pathetic.’ I think as I sit next to Mathew once again, zoning out and staring at the wall. They look at me pityingly before poking me in the cheek, and my eyes refocus. I glance at them. “Are you dissociating again?” They ask quietly, looking all concerned. As much as I appreciate it, that’s not always the problem.

“No… just thinking.” I replied. “I keep seeing this guy-”

I’m interrupted by them gasping dramatically, all concern leaving their face and being replaced by a shit-eating grin.

“Oh god, do you fancy someone?” They say just a little too loudly, and I feel myself go beat red before I can decide how to react. A couple of people glance at us all confused before going back to whatever they were doing before.

“No! I don’t fancy this random stranger!” I whisper-yell at a slightly more reasonable volume. “He seems like a fucking twat, mate.”

Mathew doesn’t look entirely convinced but drops the argument, looking more curious.

“Over there…” I mumble as I, as subtly as I can manage, point to the stranger. He’s still alone, unsurprisingly, hair a little more messy than usual, bags under his eyes. Mat stares for a second in slight awe before turning back to me.

“He is hot.”

I snort a little at their immediate reaction to him.

“You think most people are hot, Matt…”

They just roll their eyes at me and turn to talk to some stranger sat beside them. They’re good at making friends out of the people here.

Another time, when I’m out alone to avoid the inevitable boredom of staying home, the pub is chock full of half drunk people and there are essentially no tables or seats left. Except by the bar. There’s one, but I’d be forced to sit with some strangers who might want to talk to me, and I don’t really want that. The Alchemist is far too overpriced for a pub, anyway. But then I see who it is, sat there with a red wine (the worst kind of alcohol, in my opinion) in hand, chatting up the bartender, to no one’s surprise. God knows why this makes me reconsider. Maybe I’m looking for a distraction and this prick is the easy way out; I mean, it wouldn’t be the worst way to spend my evening, it beats laying around alone all night.

I make up my mind. I go and I sit next to the blondie, and make possibly a very bad decision. As I sit down he glances at me, eyes immediately glazing over the features of my face like he’s making some sort of assessment. After a moment, he holds out a hand.

“Anthony.” He immediately says without being asked for his name, or waiting for any confirmation that I’m even interested in a conversation. He has a barely concealed Canadian accent on top of a voice higher than you’d expect from his appearance. “You are?”

“Uh… Samuel. But call me Sam, if you want. Don’t mind.” I awkwardly grasp his hand with his, shaking it. His grip is firm and tight, a little bit too much so. He lets go and smiles at me, that dangerously charming smile that I’m starting to think hooked me in, in the first place. I don’t trust it.

“What’re you doing here all alone, then?” He asks, taking a sip of his wine. He crosses his legs casually and leans against the bar with one arm. I’m not entirely sure I want to answer this question because it would sound a bit sad.

“I’m- waiting on a friend.” A good enough excuse. At least I don’t sound lonely that way.

He nods, like he’s thinking deeply about his actions now that he has this information. I doubt it’ll actually change much of what he decides to do.

“Well, this friend must be lucky to know you, eh?” He says, like he knows that for a fact. I’m starting to think this was a mistake and that I hate this Anthony a little, due to how smug he’s acting about nothing.

“Sure…” I mumble. We fall into an awkward silence.

I know I’m not exactly giving him much to bounce off of right now, but I don’t really want to. Something about Anthony just… irks me. Maybe it’s the knowledge that, if I went through with anything, we’d basically just be using each other, or maybe it’s the condescending way he talks. Is there an equivalent of mansplaining for when a guy does it to another guy? Because I think that’s the best way to describe his entire manner of speech.

“I’ve noticed you staring recently, y’know.” Anthony says with such confidence, like he knows he’s got me hooked. He hasn’t. Well, that’s what I’m telling myself.

“Yeah?” I glance at him as those eyes, all brown and green and almost sparkling with pride, look into mine. The more I see of him, the more dull I start to feel.

“Yeah, I have.” He laughed a little, like it was hilarious. “I’m not surprised.”

Fucking prick, I think to myself. Seriously, how much of an ego can one boring Canadian man have?

“Right- look, mate, I’m gonna go, alright? Maybe I’ll see you another time.”

I stand up, straightening my jacket and adjusting my hair. He looks disappointed, and it reminds me a little of a sad puppy.

“I won’t keep you, then.” He sighs. “Unless you maybe wanted me to come with you?”

He smiles at me, full of faux innocence and an undeniable smugness to him.

I don’t want him to. But is rotting in bed all evening much better?

I grab his arm, sighing deeply as I watch his smile turn to a bit of a surprised grin.

“Come on…” I grumble as I drag him out and to my car.