I was sitting at an outdoor bar, flipping through the latest issue of Architectural Digest and sipping on Red Bull and vodka on a fine Wednesday afternoon. The crowds around me were rowdy and copious, as everyone and their mother were out doing various pre-Derby activities, which mainly, as I found out, consist of drinking and attending free outdoor country concerts. Hoping to see Michael Jordan or James Gandolfini, who are rumored to attend the Derby annually, I lift my head up from time to time and survey the crowds. I spot a fat woman wearing an oversized vest, dragging her screaming kids through the sea of people. I spot a man with many wrinkles under his eyes talking in an exasperated tone on his iPhone. I spot a crowd of college kids with beer bottles in their hands and band names on their T-shirts.
I spot a gorgeous man in a business suit sitting across the bar from me... Holy crap, how did I not notice him before? I carefully take a sip of my drink and look at him again. Very sexy, indeed. He's on his Blackberry. His portfolio and drink are placed in front him in a careless manner - he's having what I am having. Red Bull and vodka - good choice. I put aside Architectural Digest and pretend to concentrate on a game on TV at the center of the bar.
"Want another one?" the bartender asks me in passing and points to my drink.
"Sure, why not," I reply.
The hot guy is now done with his Blackberry for the moment. He looks at me for a brief second with a half smile on his face then turns his attention to the TV. He reaches for his drink and as his fingers wrap around the hefty glass, I notice no ring on his finger. Interesting.
The crowds at the bar begin to get denser. It is now just after 6pm and all the business suits are rushing in to grab a cold drink and forget about their meetings, expense reports and and power lunches. The hot guy gets up to walk to the restroom, I presume - as he walks to the covered portion of the bar, he turns his head slightly and looks at me again. I feel a hint of blush on the verge of manifesting itself on my face and i quickly take another sip of my drink. That guy is gorgeous.
Late twenties, maybe early thirties, I think. Sexy and single, or at least not married, I think. Beautifully tailored suit too, must have some money, must be successful in what he does, I think and swoon silently on my bar stool.
"Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice that magazine you were reading not too long ago."
I snap out of my day dream and look over to my side for the source of the voice. A man in his fifties with a receding hairline and a laptop in his lap addresses me with a smile.
"Oh yes, i was just trying to read up on some stuff I am researching for my thesis," I say as I pull out the magazine to show him, "It's called Architectural Digest, comes out about four times a year."
The guy flips through my magazine, as I anxiously await for him to give it back to me so I can move on with my life and turn my attention back to the hottie who is now back in his seat. No such luck as the old guy strikes up a conversation.
"I am in real estate," (aren't we all?) he says, " This stuff fascinates me."
I smile, still not convinced if I should talk to him but I throw out a few pleasantries as to not appear to be a rigid bitch. Of course, he takes my comments to be an invitation to a conversation and slides his stool closer to mine. I look over at the hot guy with a mild look of fear and annoyance in my eyes. He picks up on that and smiles at me.
The old guy turns out to be a decent conversationalist and, as he offers to buy me a drink, I reluctantly accept. He starts telling me about his ex-wife and the painful divorce process he had to go through. Fascinating. I keep looking over at the hottie as he slowly finishes up his drink and waves the bartender over for his credit card.
Powerless to stop the old man from talking, I watch as the hot guy signs the receipt, grabs his portfolio and Blackberry and walks out of the bar onto the crowded Louisville street. One last glance from him as he is about to disappear in the crowd, and I feel my heart sink a little. I blew it.
The old man keeps buying me drinks to get me liquored up and introduces me to the bartender and a few regulars around us. I don't mind his company, but I would rather be sitting next to my hottie right now. A few people say hi to the old guy and he introduces me to them - they eye me up and down sceptically, unaware of the fact that he just met me and, no doubt, thinking that I am THAT girl.
Unfortunately, when I get a good buzz going, I become a chatty companion and around 9pm or so the old guy and I are good friends - talking about New York, and architecture, and the Derby. I tell him that I want to go but don't have the tickets and he says that he will gladly take me and even buy me a dress and a hat. I laugh in response and tell him to take me shopping the next day. God, I am a freaking fool.
The old guy walks me home and gets my number, promising to call me the next morning. I secretly hope that he doesn't, but I also cannot be mean to him if he does. I simply don't want to go to the Derby with him but I can't flat out reject him because he seems to be kind of a big deal and this town is too small to be making enemies. My strategy is to tell him that my friends from Cincinnati are coming to visit me this weekend and to thank him for the generous offer. I really don't want any part of this fuckery and though he appears to be a nice, genuine guy, I am more than aware of his intentions towards me.
To that I say, no, thank you. Where did my hot guy go?