Sucker Punch

“Are you coming tonight?” Mark was audibly panting on the other end of the call, clanging weights and humming treadmills echoing in the background. Kevin wondered why his friend insisted on making calls while working out, but figured that when you’re a bonafide social butterfly, you have to multitask.

Kevin was strewn across his living room couch, legs draped over the armrest, aggressively racking his brain for excuses. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go out, really. It was just that he’d rather do almost anything else. Something about small talk with strangers he’d never see again didn’t exactly sound like an ideal Friday night.

“You know, I never finished The Great Gatsby. Was thinking of doing that this evening.” Kevin prayed that his friend had little to no memory of their high school days together.

“Liar,” Mark grunted. “I know you read it back in 11^th grade when you had a crush on our English teacher.”

Crap. Plan B. “And then I have to call my mom...” Kevin felt a ball of anxiety forming in the pit of his stomach.

“You only call her on Thursdays," Mark protested. Kevin could almost hear Mark’s smirk through the phone, frustratingly confident in his ability to leave Kevin no choice but to go to this party. Kevin was beginning to question how this man had been his best friend for so long, seeing as this song and dance of social bargaining wasn’t exactly uncommon.

Kevin panicked, fearing Mark could tell he was running out of ammo. He was grasping at straws. “…been wanting to try that new Indian restaurant you mentioned. Might order in tonight. You know I have a delicate stomach so maybe I shouldn’t go out after -"

“Ok, gross.” Mark cut him off. “Plus, it’s only open for lunch right now.” He clicked his tongue, “I assume that does it for excuses? I’ll see you at 10. Text you the address.”

He hung up before Kevin could protest. Sighing, Kevin ran a hand through his hair, eyeing the French bulldog plopped down on the couch next to him.

“That’s right, Bruce. The bad man is making me go out and talk to strangers.”

The dog tilted its head quizzically, a string of drool slowly making its way to the couch from its jowls.

“You have it easy." Kevin scratched the dog’s ears, “I envy you, you know?”

Tail wagging, the dog yawned and stretched out its paws, blissfully unaware of humanity’s plight and wondering only if he’d be lucky enough to get a treat before dinner. Kevin’s phone buzzed with a message from Mark.

117 Fairbanks Ave. It’ll be fun. I’ll stick with you.

~~~

Within the first five minutes, Kevin had lost Mark to the masses. Sighing, he surveyed the crowd, desperate for a familiar face. Kevin debated how long he’d need to stay to say he gave the night a fair chance.

He noticed a woman seated at the bar, seemingly equally uninterested in the event, finishing a crossword on her phone. Kevin made a mental note to work on his own daily puzzle before walking over to her.

“Hey, are you -"

She held her finger up in response, face twisted in concentration. One epiphany later, she’d typed in the missing answer and was turning toward Kevin.

“Sorry about that," She tucked a strand of curly brown hair behind her ear. “I promise I’m only rude when I’m trying to finish the hard ones.”

Maybe he’d found a kindred spirit. Kevin smirked. “No problem at all, I can relate.”

She flashed him a warm smile, motioning toward the barstool next to her. “You’re welcome to join me if you’d like. I’m Michelle.”

Kevin wondered what good he’d done in the world recently to warrant this beautiful woman taking an interest in him. Maybe it was that extra shopping cart he returned, or the extra tip he left at the restaurant yesterday. Staring at the seat, he felt a bundle of nerves threatening to engulf him. Kevin gulped and sat down before he could think twice, squashing any semblance of hesitation with sheer willpower and the promise of a little liquid courage.

The conversation was easy, enjoyable even, Kevin noticed. He found himself ready to thank Mark for dragging him out - or at least, made a mental note to be less of a pain about it if Michelle was in attendance. One cocktail turned to four, and suddenly Kevin found himself disclosing secrets to his new companion with reckless abandon.

"Ok, hear me out," Kevin announced, unprovoked but with the bravado you’d expect during a PhD defense, “Zumba is the best form of exercise.”

Michelle’s eyes widened, her face breaking into an impossibly huge grin. “I knew it!”

“So you agree!” Kevin was beaming. “A little external validation does wonders. I can’t wait to tell Mark that he was totally wrong."

“No no," She waved her hand before adding, “It’s not that - I agree, for the record - but I was just struggling to figure out why you looked so familiar.”

A horrific realization dawned on Kevin. “You…”

“Teach your Zumba class, yes.” Michelle sipped her drink with renewed vigor, fiddling with the umbrella.

“You’re a Zumba instructor.” Kevin stated flatly, slightly less enthused than his counterpart. “That means you’ve seen me make a fool of myself for…” He counted on his fingers, “…five weeks in a row now? Wow." He pinched the bridge of his nose. “So how embarrassed should I be?”

“No joke, you’re actually pretty good,” She shrugged. “And I’m a part time instructor. Kind of a side hustle thing I picked up.” Michelle leaned forward, waving the bartender over. “I used to be in a dance company and wanted to find a way to - yeah, another Moscow mule please - get back into that. Capitalism isn’t quite as fun as rhythmic dance.”

She paused, glancing back at him. “But I don’t need to tell you that,” She added with a wink.

Kevin bit his lip sheepishly, feeling ever so slightly better given that she hadn’t immediately fled upon learning that he was a Zumba fanatic. Maybe they were meant to be, he mused. It was fate. Fate or four vodka cranberries.

Their conversation meandered through various topics. Her favorite ice cream was Butter Pecan, which she swore wasn't just for old people. He used to play competitive table tennis and hates the phrase ping pong. She had been getting into karate recently. He had been thinking of starting piano lessons.

The thunk of a sweaty hand on Kevin’s shoulder shook him out of his hormone and alcohol-induced stupor. “Hey buddy,” the burly figure towered over Kevin, scruffy face difficult to make out in the dim lighting, “How about you let me have a turn talking to the pretty lady?”

Kevin, far too confident in his motor skills given the number of empty cocktail glasses perched next to him, stood up and puffed out his chest. Even on his tip toes, he barely cleared the man’s chin. Kevin wobbled slightly, the room a bit more topsy turvy than before.

Time swirled together, the next few minutes a blur as Kevin found himself yelling something along the lines of, “Back off, you big ape!” before taking a swing at the giant – and missing by a mile.

Reaction time somewhat compromised, Kevin barely had time to flinch before he felt the man’s meaty fist slamming full speed into his jaw. His body flew backward, whacking into a barstool, before he crumpled to the floor. The last thing he saw before slipping out of consciousness was Michelle landing a punch, his oppressor too busy gloating to see it coming.

“You go girl,” Kevin offered, weakly, before darkness engulfed him.

~~~

Kevin woke up with chapped lips, a swollen jaw, and the worst hangover he’d ever felt.

“What,” he winced, touching his jaw, “What happened?” He was seated on a velvet, gold armchair nestled in the corner of the bar, which had evidently been closed for hours given the morning light creeping in through closed shades.

Mark emerged from around the corner, an odd mixture of concern and excitement on his face, “Dude, what didn’t happen?” He was clearly trying to hide a smile. “Bad news: you tried to punch a guy, missed, got absolutely pummeled. But on the bright side, that chick Michelle totally got revenge for you. She’s got a solid right hook.” Mark reached over to Kevin, who was scowling back at him, and patted him on the shoulder.

“Michelle,” Kevin perked up, “Did she leave?”

“Oh yeah,” Mark fished around in his pocket, producing a piece of paper. “I mean, they cleared the place out to clean up. You knocked some stuff off the bar when you fell. She left you this note,” He handed Kevin a receipt, which had writing on the back.

See you at Zumba. I’ll take any punch-related moves out of the choreography for this week.

Kevin groaned, falling backwards in his chair.

Mark leaned against the frame, propping his head up with one hand, the other on his hips. “You gotta admit, pretty exciting night though.”

Kevin glared up at his best friend before telling the same lie he always did.

“I am never going out with you again.”