Off Sides(2)By: Sawyer Bennett
After pulling a few tables together, the group sits down, pulling the sticky menus out of the placeholders in the middle of the tables. I loop my foot around a chair and kick it backwards, sliding it out from the table. I sit down and lean back, stretching my legs out in front of me. Crossing one leg over the other at the ankles, I continue to ignore the group in favor of Angry Birds.
I don't bother with the menu. I already know I'm going for the Husky Special. A cheeseburger with a fried egg on top plus a butt-load of french fries on the side. I've been working out like crazy getting ready for the start of our hockey season in a few weeks so I can spare the calorie overload.
"Ugh...this table is just nasty. I don't know why we always have to come here."
I keep my focus on my mission to destroy as many pigs as possible, mentally rolling my eyes at Angeline. It's irritating the fuck out of me that she's here with us and her spoiled whining is already grating hard on my nerves.
I was stunned when she showed up at the party tonight as we had been furiously trying to avoid each other since we had broken up a few weeks ago. But I suppose it was inevitable that we would see each other again, given our social circle was pretty tight. It also doesn't help that Mike is my best friend and Cameron is hers.
I sneak a quick glance at Angeline and just shake my head. She's trying to wipe the table down with hand sanitizer and napkins, a grimace plastered to her face. And watching her fret over a dirty table just reiterates to me I made the right decision in breaking things off. Angeline is just a little too prissy for my tastes. Hell, she wouldn't even give me a hug after my games until I took a shower. In hindsight, I'm surprised she didn't wipe me down with that alcohol gel of hers before we had sex. Or make me double wrap my dick with two condoms.
I pull my lower lip between my teeth in consternation. Seeing Angeline tonight was surreal. I expected her to still be furious with me for breaking up with her. Instead, she walked right up to me and gave me a big hug, telling me that it was good to see me. I repaid the compliment, although I didn't really feel it. It was the polite thing to do.
As the night wore on, Angeline went from friendly banter to overt flirting. I didn't fail to notice the numerous times she laid her hand on my arm when she was talking to me or the way she would stand on her tip toes to whisper something in my ear.
Don't get me wrong. Tonight, Angeline is rocking a pair of skin tight jeans, a barely there halter top and some sky high heels. She is oozing sex and had she not been concentrating wasted energy on me, she would have made some other guy very happy to be having her attention.
Toward the end of the night as the band was playing one of their last songs, she tried to rope me into dancing with her. I politely declined, telling her it was probably not a good idea. She seemed to take the rejection gracefully but then promptly invited herself along when we all decided to hit Sally's. I should have just gone home but I really was starving and figured I could brave another half hour of Angeline.
So here we sit, and I'm trying to focus on slinging birds at pigs, keeping my attention half on the talk around the tables. It takes all of about five seconds for someone to mention Descartes and we are off and running.
I find it hilarious that when college students get drunk or high, we immediately start discussing philosophy. I mean, who gives a rat's ass about philosophy, but throw a little alcohol into the mix and suddenly everyone wants to pontificate.
We're all in a level 300 philosophy course called Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century Philosophers. Word around campus is that Dr. Anderson, who is about a hundred and twenty years old, basically sleeps through class and tells you exactly what will be on the final exam. The class is supposed to be a cake-walk. I sure hope so because I have damn good grades going into my senior year and I want to have an easy schedule so I can put more of my efforts into hockey.
"Well, I think dualism is a load of crap," I hear Mike say with flourish. He had a slight slur to his words. "If the mind exists independently of the brain, then how are physical memories created? Tell me how that makes sense."
"None of it makes sense," I mutter, my eyes still glued to my iPhone. No one even spares me a glance which is fine by me. My game is far more interesting that discussing Descartes.