Best Part of the Week

The first time they hung out - just the two of them - it was by accident. She came into the bar when he was there with mutual friends and she sat with them. Not completely an accident. They had seen each other a week before, had drinks with a couple where she knew her and he knew him, and they flirted the whole night. At least, she flirted with him the entire night.

But now she had come into the bar and sat with him and the rest of the table had gotten up one by one and the two of them were left alone. They talked for two hours, until the bartenders called last call and turned on the lights. They put on their jackets and moved towards the door. "It's cold out... and I'm a girl," she subtly suggested. "Come on, I'll walk you to your car." They walked to the parking lot a few blocks away. "Well, good night," he said, starting to walk away. "Are you sure you don't want a ride?" She was looking at him as though he were slightly crazy. "Nah, I can brave the cold." He thrust his hands into his pockets. "Are you sure?" "Yeah." "Are you sure?" "Yeah, it's really not that cold." As he was walking back the wave of realization hit him and he swore to himself.

They ran into each other the next week. He was drinking rounds with his friend when she came in and sat with them. Just before ducking out, his friend bought a extra large bottle of Chimay as his round, to be devious. Encouraged slightly by the high percentage ale, this time he accepted the offer of a ride home. She parked the car in front of his apartment and turned to him, hands in her lap, expectant. Go for it, he told himself. "Can I take you to dinner sometime? Tomorrow -- the next day?" She smiled and batted her eyes slightly. "Of course." They exchanged phone numbers and he decided to push his luck. He leaned over and kissed her goodnight. She returned it, pulling him back when he started to end it.

Their date went fine, the two of them obviously having a good time after the initial nervousness wore off. He, so worried about calling her that he didn't even consider having to leave a voicemail went on in a rambling message that ended with "ok, this is getting to be an awkward message so I'm just going to hang up." She, so worried about her outfit and annoyed at being, in her eyes, so girlish about it, ended up calling 15 minutes after the appointed time to say she would be there soon and after managing to decide on shoes and run out the door, showing up 10 minutes after that. When the date ended he walked her to her car and she drove him to his. Their kiss lingered slightly, imbued with the expectations of next time.

Which came soon, at the same bar, on the same day, at the same time as their first chance encounter. He walked her to her car once again, saying "you giving me a ride home has become the high point of my week." To which she smiled and would have blushed, would she allow herself to do such a thing.

As she pulled in front of his building he felt butterflies in his stomach. "So, can I get a second date, or did I ruin my chances of that already?" "No," she replied. "I think with what you said earlier you pretty much guaranteed a second date."

The butterflies quieted a little. "You know, I wasn't entirely telling the truth when I said that. Getting a ride home isn't the best part of the week; this is." And they drew close for the kiss that would make him smile for days.