One Timers

“Ellie, you don’t have to stay here all night.” My boss says, poking her head into my office. “It’s friday night. Go out and have a drink or two. Hell, find a man to spend the night with!”


I laugh at the older woman’s antics. She’s always pushing me to be more social, and less focused on work. Which, as my boss, is kinda backwards in my mind.


“I’m still working on some stuff!” I say, shaking my head.
“I’m not giving you a choice. You’re going to head out right now, go to that bar down the street from your apartment, and text me a picture of your drink in your hand. And if you don’t, there will be severe consequences on Monday.”


I sigh, knowing she’s serious. Well, the consequences won’t be severe but she’s serious about going to the bar. I nod and wrap up the paperwork I’ve got, putting it in my bag for later tonight. I follow her out the door and head towards the Septa station at the end of the block.


“Remember, Ellie. Text me that picture tonight.” She says, heading the other way.
“Yes, Ma’am.” I respond.


Forty five minutes later, I find myself sitting at the bar with a Jack and Ginger in front of me and the Phillies game on the TV in front of me. I quickly snap a picture and text it to her, getting a smiley face in return. I chuckle and turn back to my drink, hoping to just down it quickly and get home.


“Bonjour, belle.” I hear just as I’m nearing the end of my drink. I roll my eyes and turn towards the French voice, my heart skipping a beat when I realize who it is.


Of course I would know the ginger hair and sly smile. I’m a Philadelphia native. Everyone knows who Claude Giroux is.


“Hello.” I say, nodding my head. I’m nearing the end of my drink, hoping to just get home soon. But Claude Giroux has a different plan. He signals for the bartender to get me another drink and looks at me.


“Qu'est-ce qu'une belle fille comme toi seul ici?” He asks (What is a beautiful girl like you doing here alone?)


I just stare at him. I know he speaks english. But I’m assuming he doesn’t know that I speak French.


“Vous n'avez aucune idée de ce que je dis et c'est amusant.” (You have no idea what I’m saying and this is fun.)


I decide to give him an apologetic smile, hoping he’ll just go away.


Did I just admit that I want Claude Giroux to go away????


“Vous voyez, mes amis ne pensent pas que je puisse prendre une fille parlant uniquement en français. Je suis en train de prouver qu'ils ont tort.” (You see, my friends don't think I can pick up a girl speaking only in French. I'm trying to prove them wrong.)


I take a huge sip of the drink in front of me, checking the Phillies game. Just as I look up, Chase Utley hits a long drive to right field, just clearing the fence. I jump up and cheer, forgetting that I’m at a bar.


Claude smiles and holds up his glass to me. For whatever reason, the alcohol in me decides it’s a good idea to not be so uptight, and I clink my glass against his in a toast.


“Je suis un grand fan des Phillies. Tous les sports de Philadelphie sont fantastiques. J'aime particulièrement l'équipe de hockey.” (I'm a huge Phillies fan. All Philadelphia sports are fantastic. I especially love the hockey team.)


I have to stifle my giggle so that he doesn’t know that I can understand everything he’s saying. Did he really just pimp out his own team to me? In French?


“J'essaie trop dur à cela. Vous n'êtes pas encore intéressé.” He groans. (I’m trying way too hard at this. You’re not even interested.)


I have about a quarter of my drink left and I gulp down the rest in one sip, causing him to eye me with surprise.


“Peut-être si vous avez parlé à une fille en anglais, elle serait de vous parler.” I say. (Maybe if you spoke to a girl in english she would talk to you.)


His eyes go wide.


“You-”
“At least introduce yourself before jumping into the whole French thing.”
“I’m so sorry.” He admits. I chuckle.
“It’s okay, Mr. Giroux. You’re lucky I’m such a sports fan. Though I’ll have to disagree with your declaration that the hockey team is the best in the city. I’m more of a baseball girl, myself. Though the Flyers’ captain is kinda cute.”


He blushes and holds out his hand.
“Let’s start over. Hello, my name is Claude.”
“Your friends were right. You can’t pick up a girl speaking only in French.”
He laughs.
“Well how about only in English?”
“Do you really have to prove that to anyone?”
“Maybe I don’t want to prove anything. Maybe I just want to get to know you a little more.”
“And why would that be?” I ask, skeptically.
“Pas beaucoup de femmes peuvent résister à mon charme. Surtout pas quand je parle en français. Vous à peine me reconnu. Il me donne envie de vous connaître.” He says, staring at me. (Not many women can resist my charm. Especially not when I talk in french. You hardly even acknowledged me. It makes me want to get to know you.)


I feel like his eyes are searching into my soul for an answer.


“Je ne fais pas un stand de nuit.” I say, placing cash down for my drink. (I don’t do one night stands.)
“Donc, aller à une date avec moi. Permettez-moi de vous connaître, et vous apprendre à me connaître.” (So go on a date with me. Let me get to know you, and you get to know me.)


His eyes sparkle and I find myself actually considering his offer.


“Ça va.” I say.
“Ça va?”
“Why not?” I shrug with a smile.

Notes

Requested.

Three Flyers in a row. I love it. But I have no more Flyers on my list :(