Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
The conversation was easy as we wound our way down the mountain. He talked about the latest Fixer Brothers renovation contract. It involved an old woman in a nearby wealthy ski town who demanded to have a hot tub installed in her living room, on its own little marble platform, which Charlie was helping to install. I told him about my last couple of days of school, and for the drive, I was able to play it cool.
But the moment we parked on Pearl Street in Boulder, my first-date jitters were back again.
It made no sense. I’d been friends with Charlie for a long while, and I’d always been completely comfortable with him. As I led him down the sidewalk in the flurrying snow, though, my mind kept racing with the same thought: I just want tonight to be good, for him. He’d been on so many god-awful dates, and I wanted to show him something better.
We sauntered for a while before arriving at the big, purple-painted front door of Brew Arcade.
“Here it is,” I said, pulling in a deep breath. “Brew Arcade was one of the first places I went out with the boys on my twenty-first birthday, and I’ve loved it ever since. I know you don’t drink, but this place is what gives me a ton of inspiration for making cocktails without any booze in them—they have a killer list of great drinks.”
“Jax,” Charlie said, cocking his head to one side. “Are you actually nervous for this? You know I don’t mind going to bars. I go to the brewery any chance I can get.”
I bit my lower lip, nodding. “I just want you to have a good time. And yes, I am nervous, because my dating history with women mainly consisted of study dates in the library and dinners at the county fair, and I have no clue what I’m doing.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” he said. “You don’t have to impress me, Jax. You already do that enough every time I see you.”
I pulled in a breath, swinging the door open for him. “Then let’s get our asses inside.”
“Holy shit,” Charlie said as he looked around, seeing all of the framed photos of bands hanging on the walls. “This isn’t just an arcade bar, it’s a punk rock arcade bar?”
“Sure is,” I said. The place was full of arcade games on one side and a long bar on the other, and a ton of booths in the dimly lit restaurant area.
“Wait,” Charlie said, listening. “Shit, are they playing a song from the second Clash album? Everyone always plays London Calling, but the second one is so good, too.”
Fuck yes. He was loving it here. Maybe I wasn’t so bad at first dates, after all.
“I’m so glad you like it,” I told him. “And if you think I’m a dickhead for taking you to an arcade bar instead of a fancy restaurant, wait until you try their food. It shouldn’t be possible to have food this good in a simple little bar.”
“Screw a fancy restaurant,” Charlie said. “This may as well be heaven on Earth.”
We made our way to a booth tucked in the corner, and a server came around to give us some menus.
“They change their menu every week,” I said. “There’s always something new that ends up blowing my mind.”
Charlie ended up going for a fancy virgin mint and ginger mule, I ordered a lemon and rose spritz, and we got a plate of birria beef street tacos to split as an appetizer. After our server walked off with our order, Charlie was silent for a moment, then clutched at his heart as another song came on over the speakers.
“This was one of the first songs I learned how to play on guitar,” he said, getting a faraway look in his eyes. “It’s called ‘Going to Pasalacqua,’ off of Green Day’s first album, before they were really famous. Holy shit, what a throwback.”
“Why did you ever stop playing guitar again? I need to hear you jamming out like this.”
He gave me a slightly mischievous look, like he was about to admit something to me. “Not only did I play guitar, but I sang. I would croon this one out with my friends in the basement without a care in the world.”
I pounded my fist on the table. “That’s it. You’re picking up that guitar and singing this for me sometime. I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Not going to happen,” he said, laughing. “You know, I always say that I stopped playing because I got too busy and life got in the way. It’s mostly true, but the actual reason is so much stupider.”
“Oh, no,” I said, sensing another confession coming.
“I dated an asshole—no surprise there—but he particularly hated rock music. All rock music, from The Beatles to Green Day even to stuff like Queen.”