Miranda's Men
The Meeting
Whenever Miranda walked through any door of any structure, eyes everywhere glued to her like metal to a magnet. It was completely understandable, especially tonight, as she floated through the door of the bar in a black tank top and cut-off jean shorts. Even in the dim lighting of the bar, her dark, chestnut hair shone from root to tip, halfway down her back. Her skin was naturally dark, her legs were impossibly long despite her 5’5 stature, and the way her dark brown eyes creased when she smiled could make anyone melt. She was absolutely flawless, which made it extremely hard to be her best friend. Around her, I might as well have put a paper bag over my head. I could chat up a guy at a bar, but the second I introduced him to Miranda, I was as good as invisible.
That night might have been a new record. Within twenty seconds of walking into the bar, I had already lost my best friend and roommate to a sea of male sharks thirsty for blood...and something else. I was more than used to this. I should have known not to distance myself more than five feet at all times. The second there was even a notion of a lull in a conversation with her, some other Bill or John or Josh would have already laid three lines on her. She’d been my best friend since freshman year of high school. She always had difficulty in math, and I happened to sit right behind her. Somehow, being shamelessly used for math help blossomed into a beautiful friendship.
I took one long look at the guy Miranda was talking to and almost laughed out loud. He was wearing a sideways baseball cap, his shirt was unbuttoned to his belly button, and he was drunkenly leaning into her so much that his beer started to trickle onto the wooden bar. I knew it was coming. Just as I suspected, Miranda looked my way and combed her right hand through her black hair. I was surprised she skipped right over the nose itch, which meant “come save me.” Right hand through hair meant, “Get this motherfucker away from me.” Right on cue, I came to her rescue, explaining there was an emergency in the girl’s washroom. Miranda excused herself.
“I’m surprised you waited that long,” I shouted over the loud music.
“I am too, actually. And his line wasn’t even clever, it was something about my hair being attached to my tank top because they’re the same colour.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup. He probably would have figured you wouldn’t have had to pee the second you walked through the door.”
“Oh, so ten seconds later I had a ninja bladder attack, is that it?”
“Something like that.”
“Plus he was drunk, and pretty oblivious to anything other than your tits.”
“I guess,” Melissa sighed, staring into the mirror as she fixed her hair. Being so beautiful must have been so hard.
I shook my head. Every Thursday through Saturday night, we would go to different bars, and Miranda would have a one night stand with a lawyer from Seattle, or a catcher for some AAA baseball team, or an MIT graduate who models while building orphanages in Africa. She would find an amazing man, sleep with him, then kick him to the curb. It was worse than anything her brother Sean could do, and he was a sophomore in college. Each night she brought someone home, my love life slowly began to crumble. I would meet a guy, maybe go on a couple dates, and then I’d never call them back. I was so used to watching these wonderful men walk through my door night after night, that the men I somehow managed to snag were never good enough.
Miranda had ordered our drinks, and we took a seat at the bar. She took a swig of her beer, resting her slender arms on the edge of the bar. I sipped my vodka cran, taking a look around the bar. Wally’s was packed, more than usual. There were groups playing pool, sitting at tables and laughing, and people dancing by the DJ. Before I could take a second breath after sitting down, Miranda was getting up and walking into the crowd. I quickly climbed down from the stool and joined my friend.
* * *
It was 1:30 in the morning, and I was completely sober. Miranda had downed five pints. She had a pool cue in one hand, the other leaning on the pool table, and her head was thrown back in hysterical laughter. There were four guys circled around her, and I was on the opposite side of the table, waiting for her to take her turn. One of the guys looked extremely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. “Miranda! It’s your turn!”
She turned to me, eyes almost completely shut in inebriation. “Calm your tits, bestie, just lemme finish my conversation.”
I was starting to get annoyed. “Ya know, you can just go home if you want. I’ll see you at home, maybe one of these lovely ladies will accompany me,” she spat, giving the group of men a devilish grin. They all looked at each other in excitement, and their smiles slowly faded as they realized they were each others’ competition.
“I’m not going to leave you here, Randa.”
“Oh don’t worry about it, I can tell you want to go home. You’re kinda being a big fat buzzkill. Plus Casey will keep an eye on me.” Since we were regulars at Wally’s, we knew the bartender Casey really well. She was right on both accounts.
“Okay, here’s 20 bucks for a cab,” I said, handing her a 20. She snatched it from my hand and giggled, giving me a wave and wiggling her fingers. As I walked out of the bar, I tried to guess which of the four men I would encounter the next morning and fall head over heels for.
* * *
I heard Dave pad groggily into our kitchen. He rubbed his blue eyes with the ball of his hand and glanced at the microwave to check the time. 12:37 PM. He sighed heavily, planting his palms on the marble counter and leaning into them. He heard the clicking of buttons and a faint noise coming from the television. He lifted his head, pushed himself off the counter and slowly walked towards the den. His head pounded with each step he took. He watched the large TV screen as I played NHL '12. As I pressed buttons furiously, I could feel him watching me.
“Are you playing a hockey video game?” he asked, his voiced cracking.
I didn’t turn around to greet him. “Yeah, got a problem?” My eyes remained glued to the screen.
“No, it’s just that I’ve never seen a 21-year-old female play video games before. Let alone a sports one,” he replied with a smile.
“Your accent, where’s it from?”
“I’m from Sweden.”
“Oh. Cool.” I continued to ignore him. I remembered what my sister had told me. I couldn’t entertain ideas with Miranda’s men. He had a puzzled look on his face. I probably came off a little cold, but I had to be. “How do you know I’m 21?” I asked.
“Miranda told me about you. Can I sit?”
“I guess,” I replied. When he rounded the couch, I held my breath. Even looking like he’d just awoken from a drunken stupor, he was gorgeous. With disheveled brown hair, glowing blue eyes, his tall stature, and boxer-briefs that were riding dangerously low, I urged myself to look back at the television screen.
“Can I play with you?” he asked, a smile growing on his face.
“You can’t. I’m in season mode.”
“Can I play after you finish this game?”
I looked at him again. This guy was peculiar. Normally they’d either wait around patiently for Miranda, or they’d be out the door within ten seconds of waking up. Not once had one of Miranda’s one night stands asked to play video games with me. “Sure.”
* * *
Just after 2 PM Miranda emerged from her room, looking perfect as ever despite a night of heavy drinking. When she saw the display in her living room, she stopped dead in her tracks. I was in an intense video game battle with Dave: I was playing as the Bruins, Dave as the Senators. As time counted down, I had him beat, 4 to 2.
“Give up, bro. This is what, four games in a row now?”
“Not fair. I think if I’d had more practice I’d have beaten you fair and square.” He looked at me and smiled, and my stomach flipped as he flashed a set of beautiful white, straight teeth. My sister’s advice had gone out the window.
Miranda stood, frozen, staring at us. She had a look of both confusion and amusement on her face. Not once had I ever played video games with one of her conquests. She smiled and shook her head at me as Dave stood up. “Well, I’ve got to go,” Dave said, standing up. He was still in his boxer briefs, and I tried not to stare at how low they were riding. “I’ll call you tomorrow?” Dave asked, quickly pecking Miranda on the lips. She smiled, and he turned towards the bedroom to get his clothes. She turned to me and flashed her famous, devilish, heart-stealing grin at me. She squealed, shimmying her whole body and squeezing her eyes shut.
“You do realize who he is, right?!” She asked, bug-eyed and grinning like I’d never seen her grin before.
“...No?”
Her jaw dropped. “How do you, of all people, not recognize David Rundblad from the Ottawa Senators?”
My stomach churned. I knew I recognized him, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t placed him. He was a fucking NHL hockey player. I had just played NHL ’12 for over an hour with David Rundblad. I didn’t know how to react. Part of me was glad I hadn’t known, or I wouldn’t have been as calm, cool, and collected as I was. Another part of me wanted to chase him down that hallway. Miranda wasn’t going to answer his calls, and I couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing Dave again.
“He’s amazing, Leslie...I’ve never met a guy like him before. And the sex, Leslie. The sex...” she looked skyward, biting her lip.
I immediately looked at my lap awkwardly and tucked hair behind my ear. At that moment, he emerged from her room wearing the same baby-blue oxford and jeans he had been wearing last night. Miranda waved to him, and he kissed the top of her head, heading towards the door. “Bye ladies. And Leslie, I expect a rematch?” he asked, smiling knowingly. I couldn’t react to what he had said before he was out the door. I tried to process what was happening. Normally, she’d close the door, walk right back to her room, and continue business as usual, as if a half-naked man hadn’t just been in our living room. Now, she was sitting on the couch next to me, dancing in her seat and shaking her boobs in my face in excitement. I’d never seen her like this before. Something told me that I was going to see Dave again, and if I did, it would be because he was my roommate’s new boyfriend.
That night might have been a new record. Within twenty seconds of walking into the bar, I had already lost my best friend and roommate to a sea of male sharks thirsty for blood...and something else. I was more than used to this. I should have known not to distance myself more than five feet at all times. The second there was even a notion of a lull in a conversation with her, some other Bill or John or Josh would have already laid three lines on her. She’d been my best friend since freshman year of high school. She always had difficulty in math, and I happened to sit right behind her. Somehow, being shamelessly used for math help blossomed into a beautiful friendship.
I took one long look at the guy Miranda was talking to and almost laughed out loud. He was wearing a sideways baseball cap, his shirt was unbuttoned to his belly button, and he was drunkenly leaning into her so much that his beer started to trickle onto the wooden bar. I knew it was coming. Just as I suspected, Miranda looked my way and combed her right hand through her black hair. I was surprised she skipped right over the nose itch, which meant “come save me.” Right hand through hair meant, “Get this motherfucker away from me.” Right on cue, I came to her rescue, explaining there was an emergency in the girl’s washroom. Miranda excused herself.
“I’m surprised you waited that long,” I shouted over the loud music.
“I am too, actually. And his line wasn’t even clever, it was something about my hair being attached to my tank top because they’re the same colour.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup. He probably would have figured you wouldn’t have had to pee the second you walked through the door.”
“Oh, so ten seconds later I had a ninja bladder attack, is that it?”
“Something like that.”
“Plus he was drunk, and pretty oblivious to anything other than your tits.”
“I guess,” Melissa sighed, staring into the mirror as she fixed her hair. Being so beautiful must have been so hard.
I shook my head. Every Thursday through Saturday night, we would go to different bars, and Miranda would have a one night stand with a lawyer from Seattle, or a catcher for some AAA baseball team, or an MIT graduate who models while building orphanages in Africa. She would find an amazing man, sleep with him, then kick him to the curb. It was worse than anything her brother Sean could do, and he was a sophomore in college. Each night she brought someone home, my love life slowly began to crumble. I would meet a guy, maybe go on a couple dates, and then I’d never call them back. I was so used to watching these wonderful men walk through my door night after night, that the men I somehow managed to snag were never good enough.
Miranda had ordered our drinks, and we took a seat at the bar. She took a swig of her beer, resting her slender arms on the edge of the bar. I sipped my vodka cran, taking a look around the bar. Wally’s was packed, more than usual. There were groups playing pool, sitting at tables and laughing, and people dancing by the DJ. Before I could take a second breath after sitting down, Miranda was getting up and walking into the crowd. I quickly climbed down from the stool and joined my friend.
* * *
It was 1:30 in the morning, and I was completely sober. Miranda had downed five pints. She had a pool cue in one hand, the other leaning on the pool table, and her head was thrown back in hysterical laughter. There were four guys circled around her, and I was on the opposite side of the table, waiting for her to take her turn. One of the guys looked extremely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. “Miranda! It’s your turn!”
She turned to me, eyes almost completely shut in inebriation. “Calm your tits, bestie, just lemme finish my conversation.”
I was starting to get annoyed. “Ya know, you can just go home if you want. I’ll see you at home, maybe one of these lovely ladies will accompany me,” she spat, giving the group of men a devilish grin. They all looked at each other in excitement, and their smiles slowly faded as they realized they were each others’ competition.
“I’m not going to leave you here, Randa.”
“Oh don’t worry about it, I can tell you want to go home. You’re kinda being a big fat buzzkill. Plus Casey will keep an eye on me.” Since we were regulars at Wally’s, we knew the bartender Casey really well. She was right on both accounts.
“Okay, here’s 20 bucks for a cab,” I said, handing her a 20. She snatched it from my hand and giggled, giving me a wave and wiggling her fingers. As I walked out of the bar, I tried to guess which of the four men I would encounter the next morning and fall head over heels for.
* * *
I heard Dave pad groggily into our kitchen. He rubbed his blue eyes with the ball of his hand and glanced at the microwave to check the time. 12:37 PM. He sighed heavily, planting his palms on the marble counter and leaning into them. He heard the clicking of buttons and a faint noise coming from the television. He lifted his head, pushed himself off the counter and slowly walked towards the den. His head pounded with each step he took. He watched the large TV screen as I played NHL '12. As I pressed buttons furiously, I could feel him watching me.
“Are you playing a hockey video game?” he asked, his voiced cracking.
I didn’t turn around to greet him. “Yeah, got a problem?” My eyes remained glued to the screen.
“No, it’s just that I’ve never seen a 21-year-old female play video games before. Let alone a sports one,” he replied with a smile.
“Your accent, where’s it from?”
“I’m from Sweden.”
“Oh. Cool.” I continued to ignore him. I remembered what my sister had told me. I couldn’t entertain ideas with Miranda’s men. He had a puzzled look on his face. I probably came off a little cold, but I had to be. “How do you know I’m 21?” I asked.
“Miranda told me about you. Can I sit?”
“I guess,” I replied. When he rounded the couch, I held my breath. Even looking like he’d just awoken from a drunken stupor, he was gorgeous. With disheveled brown hair, glowing blue eyes, his tall stature, and boxer-briefs that were riding dangerously low, I urged myself to look back at the television screen.
“Can I play with you?” he asked, a smile growing on his face.
“You can’t. I’m in season mode.”
“Can I play after you finish this game?”
I looked at him again. This guy was peculiar. Normally they’d either wait around patiently for Miranda, or they’d be out the door within ten seconds of waking up. Not once had one of Miranda’s one night stands asked to play video games with me. “Sure.”
* * *
Just after 2 PM Miranda emerged from her room, looking perfect as ever despite a night of heavy drinking. When she saw the display in her living room, she stopped dead in her tracks. I was in an intense video game battle with Dave: I was playing as the Bruins, Dave as the Senators. As time counted down, I had him beat, 4 to 2.
“Give up, bro. This is what, four games in a row now?”
“Not fair. I think if I’d had more practice I’d have beaten you fair and square.” He looked at me and smiled, and my stomach flipped as he flashed a set of beautiful white, straight teeth. My sister’s advice had gone out the window.
Miranda stood, frozen, staring at us. She had a look of both confusion and amusement on her face. Not once had I ever played video games with one of her conquests. She smiled and shook her head at me as Dave stood up. “Well, I’ve got to go,” Dave said, standing up. He was still in his boxer briefs, and I tried not to stare at how low they were riding. “I’ll call you tomorrow?” Dave asked, quickly pecking Miranda on the lips. She smiled, and he turned towards the bedroom to get his clothes. She turned to me and flashed her famous, devilish, heart-stealing grin at me. She squealed, shimmying her whole body and squeezing her eyes shut.
“You do realize who he is, right?!” She asked, bug-eyed and grinning like I’d never seen her grin before.
“...No?”
Her jaw dropped. “How do you, of all people, not recognize David Rundblad from the Ottawa Senators?”
My stomach churned. I knew I recognized him, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t placed him. He was a fucking NHL hockey player. I had just played NHL ’12 for over an hour with David Rundblad. I didn’t know how to react. Part of me was glad I hadn’t known, or I wouldn’t have been as calm, cool, and collected as I was. Another part of me wanted to chase him down that hallway. Miranda wasn’t going to answer his calls, and I couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing Dave again.
“He’s amazing, Leslie...I’ve never met a guy like him before. And the sex, Leslie. The sex...” she looked skyward, biting her lip.
I immediately looked at my lap awkwardly and tucked hair behind my ear. At that moment, he emerged from her room wearing the same baby-blue oxford and jeans he had been wearing last night. Miranda waved to him, and he kissed the top of her head, heading towards the door. “Bye ladies. And Leslie, I expect a rematch?” he asked, smiling knowingly. I couldn’t react to what he had said before he was out the door. I tried to process what was happening. Normally, she’d close the door, walk right back to her room, and continue business as usual, as if a half-naked man hadn’t just been in our living room. Now, she was sitting on the couch next to me, dancing in her seat and shaking her boobs in my face in excitement. I’d never seen her like this before. Something told me that I was going to see Dave again, and if I did, it would be because he was my roommate’s new boyfriend.
Notes
This is my first story, I wrote it in November of 2012. Hope you like it!Also, just in case you aren't familiar with Rundblad's accent...here's a video. You're welcome ;)
http://video.senators.nhl.com/videocenter/console?id=124017
Love it so happy I found it
12/6/14