Peter Bjorn & John - Up Against the Wall
They spot each other across the bar. She is with a group of girlfriends. He's alone, waiting for his roommate to arrive for some after work drinks.
He's cute, in spite of his stuffy business suit she thinks.
She's hot, he thinks, though she kind of reminds him of a hippie.
He walks over. The girls giggle. He asks her for her name, if he can buy her a drink. They move to his side of the bar. He tells her what he does, banking, but he tries not to stay on the subject. He fears she'll find him boring.
But she doesn't, and she talks away. About her classes, her PhD thesis, her art. He usually can't stand academia or art, but he finds everything about her fascinating. She's still talking, and he's falling in love with the way her mouth moves, her voice is so soothing. I could listen to this girl talk for the rest of my life, he muses. And then
She is quiet.
He can't think of anything else to say, he's not that interesting, he curses himself for being so boring. He sees that she's starting to nod her head to the music. Oh god, please don't ask me to dance, he prays. He tries to think of another subject they can discuss in his head. Politics? sports? the war? He opens his mouth to speak but then
"Hey! Would you like to dance?!" she beams.
"Sure!" he intones with equal but feigned enthusiasm.
Oh Christ, it's one of those Justin Timberlake romps with an impossible beat. She sways easily, tossing her hair. God, she must know that drives guys wild. He can't take his eyes off of her.
He tries hard to focus. He bites his lip. He starts snapping his fingers. She looks to her right and left to keep from laughing.
But he's trying, and he's adorable, she thinks. She wants to put him out of his misery. "Do you want to sit and talk?"
They go and sit down. Except they've run out of things to say. She toys with her necklace and looks down at her dress, wondering when he'll ask for her number. He thinks he can read her expression. He feels like he's failed her and wonders if they can go back in time, when the possibilities were still endless, when she still seemed excited to meet him.
One of her girlfriends taps her on the shoulder, 'we're gonna go.' She turns to him with her bright smile. "Pleasure meeting you, really, it is."
Is she overcompensating with the 'really', really? He's never heard a person use the word 'really' so much.
Okay, courage young man, he tells himself. She's gorgeous, you're a buffoon, but there is the slight chance that she sees something in you. She waits.
"Yeah, um, you too, listen, can I um, get your number maybewecanhangoutsometime." He mumbles that last bit, in case she didn't hear him and he can take it back.
"Sure!" she sounds excited, do you think she's really excited? Or is that what she tells every guy who buys her two drinks? He takes the number, they embrace and
She. smells. so. good.
She leaves, and he stands there in the moment, trying to remember every bit of her.
She waits for his call. He never does. She wonders what she did wrong. He glances at her number in his phone every once in awhile and wonders if she thinks of him at all.
Probably not, he reasons.