If you missed Part I of this story, please go here.
They'd met at the Cherokee Inn in Jackson, a dive tucked away in a spot only the locals know about. For Sarah, it was the lure of fried dill pickles, cheap beer, and gossip with her girlfriends. I loved the old dusty jukebox and choosing a dark corner to nest in with my Marlboros and rowdy fraternity brothers. I'd often just sit and smoke while they made utter fools of themselves. I'm a people watcher. I love to size up a room, settle on someone, and imagine a life story behind a face. Perhaps this is because I never talk about my own stuff, or maybe it's just more fun than listening to my piss-drunk friends.
I noticed Sarah right away. Carefully holding a fried pickle to her lips, she blew gently on the hot dill chip. I watched her intently, my eyes following her every movement. Her mouth was incredible, I could almost feel it beneath mine. I wanted to take her bottom lip and nibble on it. I wanted to kiss her after she'd eaten the pickle and taste the salty sourness. Two other girls sat with her, and every so often the three of them leaned in together, then broke out in raucous laughter, a private joke I wasn't privy to.
Suddenly my buddy Jeff banged his fat fist on the table so hard that two beer bottles tipped over and spilled their fizz onto the floor. He jumped up to avoid getting wet and knocked his chair over backwards. Shaking my head, I tossed over a stack of napkins and we mopped up the mess. Sarah looked over her shoulder to see what all the commotion was about and her eyes stopped on me. I was mortified by my friend's obnoxious behavior. The mess now gone, I shifted back into my chair and glanced her way. Our eyes locked and time seemed to stop in that instant. Then Sarah's attention turned back to her beer, which she polished off by tipping her head back, exposing her delicate neck. She slowly stood up, and my jaw dropped with the full view of her.
She was tall with legs that went on forever. Her hair was tied back in a low, messy bun and she'd tucked some kind of fake pink flower in it. A plain white t-shirt showed off her breasts. Hip-hugging, dark jeans complimented her curves and black flip flops revealed peeling polish in what looked like navy, but it was hard to tell in the dark.I watched as she pulled some crumpled bills from her back pocket and sauntered up to the bartender. My eyes wandered down to her ass then and I wanted nothing more than to come up from behind her and grab it.
But I wouldn't, and I didn't. I'm too shy. I haven't had much experience with girls since Dad came out of the closet. Or much experience with them, period. Sometimes I wonder if I really like girls, but my racing pulse must mean something. Jeff jabbed me to bum a cigarette, and just as I started to shift in my chair to get the pack out of my pocket, a soft voice said, "Here, thought you guys could use a few more of these." She plopped two beers on the table and grinned wickedly with a wink. I felt my face grow hot, but I somehow mustered up the courage to ask her her name, and to stall to keep her at our table.
"Sarah," she said. "What's yours?"
"I'm Sam," I replied. "Sam-I-am. I do not like green eggs and ham." Shit, I thought, I cannot believe I just said that shit! What the fuck?
But she laughed. And I laughed with her. Something between us softened and she pulled up a chair. Bold move, I thought. Can I actually take this girl on?
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