I slept for a lot longer than I intended that first night. When I woke up, it was around 6 in the evening. Shitty weather. Perfect. 

I got dressed and crept down the marble staircase. The huge house was deadly silent, I figured Alan and Christobel were off in their little love nest. The thought made me strangely lonely. Weird. I had never felt that way before.

I am a night owl by heart and Alan knew it, so it didn’t surprise me to find a Florida newspaper folded to the Classifieds when I entered the mammoth kitchen. Underneath it, hidden from Christobel’s beady little eyes, was a twenty and a note from Alan.

Nyx-

Get something to eat around the corner at Lager’s. It’s a bar/grill place I think you’d like. I like it, but Christobel insists the food gives her heartburn. Enjoy.

-A

I smirked and folded both the note and classifieds under my arm. I left the $20 there. I don’t need his money. It was a nice thought, but he knew me better than that.

I tugged my beanie over my head stole out of the mansion, across the soaked lawn, and launched myself into my Neon. I was cold, wet and hungry. My stomach growled at me. Lager’s was around the corner and I was happy to duck inside, and even happier to see that it was mostly empty, save for a dark-haired guy sitting at the bar, meditating over his drink. I sat myself and ordered a Heineken, and while the waitress was putting in my order, I stole to the back of the restaurant and called my mother, though I would have rathered put out a bonfire with my face. 

As I predicted, she was hysterical and nosy and all the things that exasperated me about her. She wanted to know why the HELL I hadn’t been answering my phone (didn’t want to) where I was (left that out) and where I had been (places she would never believe) and by the end of the conversation I was set to order six beers back to back.

I collapsed into my booth, took a long gulp of my beer, and set to reading the paper. I was starting to feel pretty sloshed and the words were starting to have sex on the page when I felt someone standing next to my table.

I looked up.

And as he sings it-I was gone.

“Your nose is bleeding.” 

Those were the words he first said to her. Hardly the sentence you’d think would trigger a romantic interlude. Certainly didn't befit the rollercoaster they had strapped themselves into. But, as irony goes, that’s all it took.

“Ohuh?” She blinked up at him and he felt his stomach tingle a little. Blood ran out of one nostril, slipping towards her mouth. Eyes the color of cocoa floated to him, clouded by beers, confused, a little irritated. Chris Kirkpatrick felt stupid.

“Your nose is bleeding.” He said, a bit louder, and she snapped out of her reverie and touched her fingers to her face. “Ugh. God. Thanks. That's lovely.” She said disgustedly. Chris snickered, despite himself. “It’s okay. Here, let me find a napkin.”

“Nah, that’s alright, don’t worry about me.” She smiled.  Her mouth turned up to the side when she did so, and Chris felt another flutter in his stomach that was in no way related to seeing blood. A lip ring glinted in the middle of her chin. 

“Nah, I’m already involved. Let me get the waitress.” He turned around, shaking his head with mirth. There were plenty of things he could be doing at almost 10:30 at night, but he’d rather help a bleeding stranger find a napkin than do any of them. Especially if it was a cute stranger. And damn, she was cute. Vermilion hair, upturned nose, sooty eyelashes, bowed lips. Color him intrigued.

As luck would have it, Chris couldn’t find a waitress, and Lager’s wasn’t the kind of place they’d keep a napkin out unless you ordered food. So he headed back to the bleeding girl and slid across from her in a booth. 

“You’re not going to believe this, but there’s not a damn napkin in the house.” He said, chuckling a little. “What the hell kind of place is this?” The girl muttered, one hand collecting the moisture on the side of her beer and wiping her face with it. “A shitty one. Are you going to be okay?” Chris wanted to know. 

She smiled in that lopsided way. “Oh, I’m sure a nosebleed won’t kill little ole me."

“I’m Chris.” He offered, because that seemed like the next step, and he liked the way she didn't seem to know who he was, even though that usually indicated a woman was too young for him. 

She eyed his red bandanna. “Chris is a good name, but I prefer nicknames, they’re easier to remember when you’ve had a few beers. I dub you Scott Baio.”

Chris groaned. “Oh come on, not Scott Baio."

“Sorry, Chris Scott Baio. You chose to wear a red bandanna. You sealed your fate.” She snickered at him. Chris couldn’t help but to laugh. The waitress came over and before he could beat her to it, she ordered them beers. He had never seen that before and told her so.

“What do you do that has hindered you from having a girl pay for your beer?” She asked, taking a huge swig of her beer. Chris skipped around that.

“You gonna tell me your name?” He teased.

“Aw, c’mon, that’s no fun. Why don’t you give me a nickname? It’ll keep things interesting.” She took another chug of her beer and winked at him.

Chris shook his head. “I don’t know you well enough to give you a nickname.”

“Hmm, well, Chris Scott Baio, let’s see. I’m a Libra, I hate penguins and lettuce, and I have a tattoo of a pirate ship on my ass.” 

Chris nearly spit out his beer. The girl ducked. He shook his head, coughing.

“Say it, don’t spray it, Baio.” 

“Sorry, I’m just not used to people being that forward. Especially women.” He admitted. Well, that wasn't necessarily true-many, many women had been forward with him, but only to get into his bed. This one didn't look like she really cared if she ended up there or not. Refreshing.

“Well, get used to it. Now, in the interest of equality, I demand a nickname.  I’m sure you’re quick enough to think one up. If it’s good, then there’s no reason for you ever to know my real name, right?” She teased, and Chris laughed.

“Well, since the pirate ship intrigued me, and I'm several beers deep, I dub thee Captain.” He knighted her with the knife on the table and she played along, bending her head to him. “Captain. I like it. Let’s drink to you, Scott Baio, and to me, the Captain!” They clinked beers and chugged. Chris couldn’t help but notice that she could chug a hell of a lot more than he did.

“Now, since you had to throw out that bit about the tattoo, I think I need to see it. For proof that you are a Captain.” He said, winking at her.

“Smooth. Real smooth. I need a few more beers for that, my friend. Or something stronger.” She set down her beer with a thunk.

Chris summoned the waitress. “Tequila. The nastiest kind you have.”

The girl’s mouth fell open. “You are naughty, Mr. Baio. I know what tequila does to a girl, and I'm sure you do, too, Loverboy. Just so's you know, you have NO chance of getting inside my panties tonight. My panties are Fort Knox.”

Chris sniggered. “I am suggesting something far more fun than sex.”

She laughed. “What in the world could be more fun than drunken sex with a stranger? Especially when that stranger is me?” The waitress set down the bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. Chris filled them up and handed hers over.

“You had to ask? You should know that the next best thing to drunken sex is…”

She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting.

“Beer pong.” He finished, and she threw a straw wrapper at his face.

“That’s the best you could come up with?! Come on! I played beer pong in HIGH school! Can we have a little character growth, please?"

“Do you want to compare notes on fine literature? By the way, I think I need to know how many years it's been since high school. You know, so I'm not a disgusting old perv hitting on you in a bar."

She burst out laughing. “You say that like you’re one thousand years old. Come on now, I’m not jail bait. Plus, you were the one who came up to ME with the awesome opening line of, ‘Hey, your nose is bleeding.’” 

Chris shook his head, smiling. “Tell me your name.”

“My name is Captain.” She said innocently, pouring them both another glass of tequila. Chris took his.

“Your real name.” He insisted.

She considered him, setting down her shot glass. “You really wanna know my real name?” He nodded in anticipation. She crooked her finger, indicating for him to get closer. He leaned over the table. She positioned herself near his ear, and unconsciously, he shivered. She smelled like satsumas.

“Captain.” She whispered, her breath tickling his neck, and he shook his head as he leaned back.

“You are a royal pain in the ass, aren't you?" 

Captain grinned at him. “Cheers to the truth.” She held up her shot glass. He clinked it with his. 

“Yeah. Cheers.” He said, keeping their eyes locked as they downed the liquor.

Unfortunately, he lost points trying to be smooth, as Chris started hacking as soon as the liquor slid down his throat. Captain snickered, tossing a napkin at him.

“Whew, that’ll make hair grow on your chest.” He choked, his eyes stinging. Normally he stayed far, far, FAR away from tequila. 

"You need to learn to hold your liquor, Scott Baio.” She pointed at him, weaving. He laughed.

“Says the girl who can barely say a word without using her hands." 

“Oh, bite me. Now, let’s play beer pong. TRUTH beer pong.” She stipulated, fishing in her pockets for a quarter. 

“Oh God. Why do I see myself regretting this?” Chris groaned, holding his head.

“You won’t.” She said, so seriously that Chris didn’t know whether to laugh or not. He opted for the latter.

She surveyed their half-empty bottle of tequila. “We need more happy juice. Something tells me we’re going to be too drunk to summon Flo after this.”

After hailing the waitress and getting more tequila, they flipped a quarter to see who would go first. Chris drew first bounce.

“Okay, if you miss, you have to take the shot, of course, and than tell me something true. If you make it, you can tell me something either true or false. I have to determine whether it is true or not, and if I get it wrong, I have to take a penalty shot. Capiche?” She raised her eyebrow at him. Chris sighed and held his quarter over the table.

“Here’s to the worst hangovers of our lives."

She laughed at him.

“Hangovers are for pussies.”

He believed her.

“Okay okay okay okay…true or false, I go on Craigslist.com looking at the Missed Encounters section and sending people false hope.” I slurred, and Scott Baio stared at me. "That is diabolical. You can't do that."

"Who's gonna stop me, the Craigslist police?" I snorted, and we both erupted in drunken laughter.

“Shhh shhh shhh, this is serious Scott Baio!” I insisted, pointing at him, prompting us to laugh even harder. I point a lot when I'm drunk. 

It was midnight and we had obviously bounced more misses than hits. The truths/lies had gotten dumber and more fantastical until we were just reaching for nothing. He didn't seem like he wanted to stop, though, and I didn't particuarly want to move, either. He was a lot of fun. 

“How the hell am I supposed to know if that's true?” Chris Scott Baio grumbled, shrugging off his hoodie.

“Pfft. In the same way, I’m supposed to know whether or not you once toured the country as some kind of pop group, that’s how. Now pay up.” I scowled playfully at him.

“Judging from what I know of you so far, I'm pretty sure it's true." Chris mused, running his hands through his hair. He did that a lot. And I know I was drunk and all, but he was fucking gorgeous. I was trying not to let that get in the way. I had already gone down on a pervy jackass to get my car out of hock. Drunk or not, I wasn't about to add this guy to my body count, as much as I may have wanted to. 

“And I say that you seem way too cool to be in some pop group, so I call bullshit." I giggled obscenely. Fuck. I giggle too much when I’m drunk. It’s bad.

“You'd be surprised. Does that Craigslist thing really exist?” He mumbled, his chin resting on the table. The man could not hold his liquor. It would be cute if I wasn’t scared he’d soon ralph all over the table.

“Sadly enough, it does. And sadly enough people post there, seeking connection in a very cold, dark world.” I affirmed, taking the bottle and guzzling it. Something gave way and I felt something warm flooding down my lips. The sleepy, drunken expression on his face evaporated. 

“Dammit, your nose is bleeding again.” Chris looked around frantically for our waitress. I looked at the blood on my hands. This time, I was embarrassed. It wasn't a small flow either-it was gushing like Niagra. 

“Shit, here." He reached up to his head and unfastened his Scott Baio bandanna, than moved his body around the table to slide next to me. He firmly held the bandanna against my nose. My eyes met his.

“This is your bandanna,” I said thickly. He smiled at me, amused. “There’s no napkins around, my Captain. I can’t let you bleed all over.”

“The hell you can’t! Lawsuit!” I mumbled, and he laughed. He smelled great. Woodsy. And his laugh made me smile. His bandanna smelled like hair gel. A faint odor of sweat and a little bit of cologne. His eyes searched mine-he had great brown eyes with the longest eyelashes I had ever seen. I love long eyelashes on a man. We stayed silent for a few moments. I could have reached up and took over, but I didn't. It had been so long since anyone had touched me, even in an innocent way. I had forgotten that people needed things like that to survive.

“Is that better?” He murmured and I nodded quietly. He removed the bandanna and closely inspected my face. My heart rolled over on itself like a hedgehog. Chocolate eyes softened; he nibbled on his lower lip. I know my eyes followed the action, and I know that he saw it. He cleared his throat.

“Not bleeding anymore, but keep the bandanna, just in case.” He moved away from me, and back into his seat. My forwardness seemed to make him nervous. Which was cute. 

“I’m sorry about soiling your bandanna. Give me your address, I’ll mail it back to you.” I joked, having no intention of doing so whatsoever. He chuckled. “At the risk of sounding lame, I have about ten of those at my house. That’s yours. You have to keep it. Something tells me you run into a lot of trouble.”

He was such a nice guy. If he only knew how many lines I had done to warrant sudden nosebleeds. If he only knew how tangled my life had been before I had made this crazy trip out here. If he did, he’d run. 

“Trouble and I are besties.” I attested. He moved the liquor out of my reach. “I can see that. Let’s slow down before they kick us out.”

“Shit, you’re right. Can you get cabs around here?” I asked, checking his bandanna for more blood.

“We’re in Orlando at midnight. What do you think? Where do you live?”

I hesitated. “Vizcaya Park.”

 His eyebrows went up in surprise. “No kidding? So do I.” Fuck, he was rich. Great. 

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here. You from out of state?” He questioned, summoning over the waitress to bring us baskets of bread.

I hesitated, but I could not bring myself to lie to him. I doubted he was a serial killer.

“New Orleans” I took a piece of bread and started tearing it into pieces. He watched me with that dark gaze.

“Really? I would have figured New York at first, but you’re not a Yankee,” He teased. "I can tell." 

I gasped in mock horror. "Watch your fucking mouth."

He chuckled, holding up his hands in apology. “You’re right around from where my boy Lance lives. In Mississippi.” 

I laughed. “Poor guy.” He snickered. “Yeah, that’s what we say.”

We looked at each other steadily for a few minutes.

“How long have you been in town?” His voice had lost its teasing note. He sounded interested. Which was not good, but I didn't have the mental acuity to construct falsehoods right now. 

“A day or so. Give or take.” I admitted.

“And how do you like our great state of Florida?” He wanted to know, grinning at me sardonically.

“Too many old people. Still fucking hot. But, a change of pace.” I could feel myself starting to sober up. 

“Is your car here?” He asked suddenly. I nodded. “Why?”

“Cause they’re going to kick us out. Let me call you a cab.” He called the waitress over to settle the bill.

Fuck. If he called a cab, he’d get in with me cause he lived in the same neighborhood. If he saw me going into the Cranes’ house, he’d get the wrong idea. Like I was like him. And I wasn't. Not that there was anything wrong with him, but I could already tell we were worlds apart. 

I was having a very large panic attack over this when the waitress put the bill on our table and walked away. Both of our hands landed on it at the same time.

“Oh no, you’re not paying, Scott Baio Chris,” I said firmly.

“The hell you are!” He exclaimed. Our hands tightened around the black checkbook and we stared each other down. After a few moments, neither of us had let go. Chris raised his eyebrow in challenge at me, and I gave it right back to him. The corner of his lips twitched. 

“C’mon, you have to at least let me pay. You kept my boring ass company all night and then gave me your bandanna to stop my hemorrhaging. Please.” I insisted.

“Nope, sister, sorry. I was in a horrible mood before I saw you bleeding and you showed me a good time. You got the first round, so you have to let me pay.” He shook his head.

I leaned closer. “What if I told you I’d tell you my real name and show you my pirate tattoo? Then would you let me pay?”

He laughed. “I wasn’t born yesterday, but nice try."

I glared at him. I pointed behind him.

“Holy fuck, a purple people eater!” 

He didn’t even blink. “Do you know how many times I’ve used that tactic?” 

“Um, more times than you’ve fallen for it?” I guessed lamely. He laughed, and with one quick move, he yanked the checkbook from under my hands and slipped his credit card into it. I growled at him.

“Look, you can get me back next time.” He said casually.

I smirked. “Next time?”

“One can only hope. Besides, you need to show me that tattoo.” He handed off the checkbook to the waitress. 

“What if I said there is no tattoo?” I asked evenly, putting my elbows on the table.

He chuckled. “Then I have to renounce your title. That means you’ll have to tell me your name.”

I shook my head. “Not a chance.”

“It seems I’ve met my match when it comes to being stubborn.” He amended.

I snort-laughed. “Oh Baio, you have no clue.”

The check came back and he scrawled his signature too quickly for me to see the rest of his name. 

For lack of other options, we slid out of the booth and walked slowly outside. It was misting. 

“Where’s your ship, pirate?” He teased.

“Oh, around here somewhere. I had fun, Chris Scott Baio.” I admitted, grinning up at him. He smiled back, blowing me away. Goddamn, what a great smile. 

“I hope I see you again sometime, Captain. Are you sure you don’t want me to catch you a cab? I want to make sure you’re safe.” He glanced towards the dark parking lot. 

I waved it away. “I’ve driven home worse than this. The bread helped."

“Naughty.” He shook his head. “Be careful, and use that bandanna if you need it. If you lose it, come to Lager’s and I’ll bring you a new one.”

I laughed, winked at him, and turned to go.

“What’s your name?!” He yelled after me.

In answer, I pulled down my pants and showed him my pirate tattoo.

I know a lot of girls, who, upon going through something like this, fell upon the bed and couldn’t sleep because they couldn’t stop thinking of the guy. I know if I had would have been any other kind of girl, I would have slept with that fucking bandanna under my pillow since day one. But I didn’t. That came later. Much later. 

The night I met Chris, I nearly broke my ass trying to stumble my way up those stupid fucking stairs in the dark. I was still drunk. I didn’t make it to my bed. I passed out on the floor, a place I'm very familiar with. 

Romantic, huh?

When I woke up that next morning, I woke up in hell. There was a spot next to my nose on the pale blue carpet that was stained with blood. Chris’ bandanna was scrunched up in my sweaty hand, damp and stiff. My head pulsed like a rotten tooth. My body was a symphony of pain. I managed to drag myself up from the floor and into a hot bath. It did nothing to help except get the ick off of me. For my nose, I could do nothing.

After putting on deodorant and brushing my teeth, which had grown fur overnight, I saw Chris’s bandanna lying on the marble countertop. My blood had darkened to a rust color. I went back into the bedroom and hid it in my lockbox. I was an emotional packrat; I kept everything that had little to no importance. I thought this experience with Chris was just like that. 

Christ. It hurts me when I think about how wrong I was. 

I stayed in my borrowed room all day, nodding in and out of comprehension. During that time, a maid must have come in and cleaned up. My bloodstain was gone when I finally came to. I was awakened by arguing from downstairs. I heard my name. 

I don’t like it when people fight about me when I’m not around. I’m a strong believer in saying shit to someone’s face. And it didn’t surprise me at all that Alan and Christobel were having it out about me. 

I entered at precisely the right moment: Christobel threw something and it shattered against the walls. Probably a vase from a Chinese dynasty. When she saw me, her whole face went the color of cottage cheese.

“YOU! How DARE YOU come into my house, drunk, and bleed all over the fucking floors!”

“I’m sorry Alan, for bleeding on your floors,” I said calmly, over her head. This pissed Christobel off more. “Don’t ignore me! Get back in your room and pack your shit!"

“Christobel, stop being rude,” Alan said tiredly.

“Rude my ass! She comes in here with all of her addictions and expects you to just clean up after her! Grow a pair, Alan!” Christobel cried.

“Yeah, Alan, grow a pair,” I said, humorlessly. He sighed.

“Christobel, she apologized, and Benita got it off of the floors, no problem. Calm down.”

Christobel wasn’t having it, though. She spun towards me, hands clenched at her side. “Find a job and be out in 2 days!” She looked like a tiny gorilla, and as she turned and stormed out, I couldn’t help snapping a smart salute and saying, “Yes ma’am! Now fetch me a Stoli and Tonic, and mind the little umbrella!”

Alan tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t help it. “Nyx, why do you egg her on? You know it makes my life harder.” He threw his arm around my shoulders.

I scoffed. “Alan, you can kick that habit at any time, and you know it. But I’m sorry for bleeding on your carpets. Your woman, while being criminally insane, is right. I need to leave you guys be.”

Alan shook his head, grinning. “She throws off a lot of steam, Nyx, but you know you’re welcome for as long as you like.” 

“Thanks. I mean it.”

He sniffed my shoulder and grimaced. “Christ, you smell like you’ve been swimming in hops.” I swatted him. “I took a bath, dammit.”

“In what, Everclear?” He retorted. I glared at him. 

“Sorry. Look, if you’re going to be living here, I need to know, are you still…” He looked at me meaningfully and thumbed his nose.

I sighed. “Occasionally.”

“You need to cut that out, Nyx.” He said seriously. I rolled my eyes. “Okay, but it’s really hard to take advice from a man who wears plaid shorts with ducks on them.”

“Oh fuck off.” He shoved me away.

“Duck tales, woohoo!” I sang, heading back upstairs. He rolled his eyes and flipped me the bird. Duck shorts or not, the man still was an asshole. I loved him for it.

I hooked up my computer and checked my MySpace, my Facebook, and my email. I didn’t blog about where I was or what I had done. I checked my favorite comics and searched for jobs, and after I sent off my resume to a few, I folded my legs underneath me, tapped my fingernails against the tabletop, and went to Google.

I tried in vain to remember the things we had told each other while playing Truth or Lie Beer Pong. I vaguely remembered some malarkey about a pop group. Against my better judgement, I entered “Chris pop group” into the search field for images. Just to laugh at the length he'd go to construct a friendly lie. 

When the page loaded, I fell off the chair.