Even The Losers
Zackary has always played it safe his entire life. Has never taken a risk, especially with women. How can a horse like him ever hope to catch a girl's attention?
This is nice romantic slice of life. Nothing complicated here.
Even The Losers
"Even the losers get lucky sometimes" - Tom Petty
Two hooved feet filled with trepidation clopped up the old wooden steps. The sign on the door said "no shirt, no shoes, no service." But that of course was meant for other kinds, wasn't it? For other people. The "hooven" as they've been called in the past, have never been among the ones who needed anything more than a basic metal covering. In times past it was even called a "horseshoe."
Just like Zackary had. He inhaled deep and exhaled. A pulling a smile from his pocket he slid in through the old glass door. There was no music, no flashing lights. It was dark inside. An under current scent of alcohol, sweetness, bitterness. There was loneliness, regret, and humor hiding within the edges of it too. His tall brown conical ears folded downward, his wide nose wrinkled. He tried not to snort. After all, such things was frowned upon in polite company. Not that anyone hanging out in "The Bell End" could be considered polite company.
He was wearing his best shirt, a blue Hawaiian. His best pair of jeans that accented his rump just so. Well, at least he thought so. Garreth, his bovine friend had always told him that they did and if he was ever curious to try something new, he could teach him. But Zackary wasn't interested. If only I was gay he thought as Garreth's offer came to mind. But it wouldn't work. Garreth was a nice bull, funny and kind. Good looking for a guy. But you couldn't change who you are, no matter how desperate one got for company.
The bar seemed a mile long of polished mahogany with a bright brass pipe in front of it. The stools were mostly occupied, some with couples canoodling, some single. A bear stared down into his beer as if it was the last one he was ever going to get on the planet. Next to him twin canines of some mixed breed necked and whispered into each other's ear, their tails wagging slowly in unison as they talked. A few other red stools sat alone, like red life preservers in a sea of dark wood.
The stool at the end of the bar seemed unclaimed, at least Zackary hoped it was. His breath caught in his throat as he sat down, his mind turning to all of those action and horror movies that started with a guy sitting in the wrong place at a bar. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, expecting to feel a heavy hand clop him on the shoulder and a gruff voice to shout "hey". None came.
He'd never done anything like this. He was always the safe one. Always the happy one. Always the gamer, the book worm, the movie nerd. He never ventured further outside of his domicile than the grocery store, and one time to a church during Christmas, where he felt out of place and had paperwork shoved in his hands while the music blared on. He never went back and ignored all their calls.
The chestnut-haired beauty worked like a pro. Moving this way and that, her mane never out of place. She answered questions, grabbed drinks, and before Zackary knew it, she was staring him in the face. "What'll ya have?" She asked.
He'd rehearsed this line a thousand times, pointing suavely in the mirror and saying "your phone number, filly." But now, his throat went dry. His palms were wet. He looked down, and mumbled, "beer."
"We got thirty different kinds in bottle and eight on tap. What would you like? A Clydesdale?"
He grunted more than answered. She laughed, "make you're mind up, I'll get back to you."
Then she turned. Even her tail was brushed and beautiful. He wanted to snort. To bite his lip. To cry in agony and race from the bar. His fists clenched as he stared down at the dark wood. He felt eyes baring down upon him. "You make your mind up yet, stallion?"
It was now or never. Everything was riding on this. All through school Zackary had no chance with women. He'd never even so much as necked with Clarissa Husky, and Clarissa necked with EVERYBODY. He gritted his teeth, and pressed against that ball of emotion that blocked his words. The dam in his throat creaked. Cracked. Here goes, he thought. It broke.
"HiI'mZackaryyoucancallmeZackIsuckatthisIknowIdoIreallydobutIcouldn'tstandnotknowingyouanymorecauseIreallylikeyouandwanttospendtimewithyou!"
Silence.
He had shouted his declaration. Instead of saying it low and gentle he blurted the entire thing out, shouting over everyone and everything. Even the bear who was staring down into his beer now was staring at him. _Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit..._Zackary thought.
"Huh," she said, and smiled. The entire bar seemed to be holding its breath. "Zack you seem nice," she said. "I'm Katie and I'm off on Monday. And if you have a few hours to kill, you stay here till I get off and walk me home."
The cheer that erupted afterwards caused a larger shock to Zackary than her actually saying yes. His hand shook a bit as he looked up at her. He felt a heavy hand pat him on the shoulder. "Get him a Honey Bee on me!" Looking up, Zackary saw the grinning face of the bear earlier. More congratulations came around. More smiles, more good will. And every once in a while, Zackary got a free beer or shot. It wasn't enough to get him drunk, but it was far more than he was used to drinking, which was hardly at all.
And every once in a while, Katie would look up at him and smile. That made every awkward touch, every moment of loud noises every moment of uncomfortableness worth it. He had no clue then what would happen. If he'd go awkward and silent when they were alone. If he'd fumble the date and forget to get flowers or something else. If he'd mess up everything entirely. His mind had plenty of time to make him feel like a loser, to burn through every possibility later and force him into a muttering ball of mess alone back in his apartment. But that was later. Right then, in that moment, with each smile Katie gave him, Zackary felt like a king.