Stephanie

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Steely Boys. Back when I was a teenager, we all thought it was the old people's bar for our grandparents.

There was supposed to be a rebranding a few years ago. At least Emma insisted that there was.

She was my best friend, or at least my most aggressively helpful one, and she apparently didn't like the idea of the bookworm going back to being a bookworm when she returned from her time at the University of Wisconsin.

"Let's cut loose, Steph. You're an adult now. With a career. And potential. And soon to be disposable income. The time for being a timid child is over, now it's time to be a woman." She grinned in a way that made me think her slightly mad, leading me along with me following out of a combination of curiosity and not wanting to hurt her feelings.

I wasn't a bar girl. I'd tasted that life and I was definitely sure it wasn't for me. I barely tolerated the taste of alcohol, didn't particularly enjoy its smell. This place at least didn't smell of liquor too much, perhaps the scent of fried food helped cover it up, and there was a warmth that the outside lacked at the moment that I can say I enjoyed. "You sure this still isn't the old grandpa tavern?"

"I'm certain. This is now the twenty-somethings’ hotspot in town for Aaronsville. Like, for professionals, not just a bunch of college kids like a lot of the other bars, and a change of the background music ran most of the old fogeys out."

"It's not like we're older than college kids, Emma. I'm like, twenty-two."

"Yet you're going to be studying at the college as an assistant professor already."

I rolled my eyes as I followed, taking a seat. "Just because I'm a hotshot prodigy who they let skip eighth grade doesn't mean I think I'm automatically better than all my peers. You should know that."

"I'm actually surprised, though" Emma said, sitting down beside me.

"Surprised about what?"

"That you came back here to do this. I would think most would-be educators want to be far away from the people they teach. Running into your teacher, or professor, or whatever, outside of school? It's awkward nowadays."

I had to laugh. "I favor shorter commutes and being able to visit my parents over whatever you're panicking about. I can maintain my professionalism. It's one of the things they train you to do as a teacher, especially if you're going to educate high school or college students."

"You're barely older than the kids you'll be professoring for. Assistant professoring."

"Professoring is not a word, Emma."

"You know what I mean. Aren't you the least bit worried that your students might be hot for teacher? Or maybe that you might end up hot for student?"

Again I shook my head with a smirk. "Yeah, you're looking at the next Mary Kay Letourneau."

"Mary Kay what?"

"Some teacher who... Oh never mind. It was before your time."

"You're the same age as me, girl." She slapped me on the back. "Whatever. Your professional life is your professional life. This is for your personal enjoyment. A celebration of a start of a wonderful career."

"And you expect me to celebrate by drinking a beer I don't even like?"

"Seriously, have you even tried one yet? Or you still Miss Goody Two-Shoes who's so pure she could be a Mormon or something?"

Oh, yeah. Last time I had a girls' night out with Emma, I could legally still be considered a girl. One who was focused on her studies so much that yes, she got to skip a grade. I didn't really have much of a social life outside of a few friends here and there.

When I went to college?

I didn't like to think about it, but I soon quickly went back to that academically focused life and I really didn't do the party scene then either.

One year with Ryan and living the life being a sorority slut without the extensive sexual history was enough for me. If I never met a college 'bro' again, I'd be a happy camper.

This wouldn't stop Emma from trying to live that life again, though. If the world was jocks and geeks, she was a switch. She'd go out and get plastered one night with the cheerleaders and football team then sit on the computer playing some nerdy video game with me into the wee hours of the morning the next.

"You know how you should break in this new phase of your life?"

"Getting wicked drunk?" I asked, dejectedly.

"No. Casting aside everything that makes you a girl. Including, you know..." She wiggled her eyes my way.

"No, I don't," I replied, staring right at her.

"The thing you do with a guy. I know you weren't exactly Miss Popularity back in high school."

"I didn't care to be."

"That's what they all say." She smirked. "You should get a certain card punched. You know. Literally."

"It doesn't actually work that way, you know. The hymen isn't some..."

"I mean literally, Steph. I don't need a sex ed lesson. You're the one who needs it. In practical applications, if you know what I mean."

"I'm drowning in all the innuendo you're using, Emma."

"Well, I'm just saying. You never told me you're particularly worried about saving yourself, and I know you're not asexual or a lesbian. You've made too many comments about certain boys’ bodies to say that."

My face grew red. I did have a vivid imagination, and occasionally shared my thoughts.

"So really, what are you waiting for? This whole bar is your oyster. You walk up to any guy here and they'll drop their pants for you if you spread your legs for them."

"You make it sound so romantic, Emma. You really do."

"Romance can wait. Getting laid though? That can't. You're a woman. You have needs. To be as successful as possible in your new career, you need to address those needs."

"So clearly, it's really you caring incredibly deeply about my career."

"Now you get it."

Emma was... certainly something. I scanned around the bar. She was right. It was a lot of twenty-somethings, or at least guys who could pass for it. I guess they were traditionally sexy? I mean, they looked reasonably fit, had cute haircuts, and proper facial symmetry?

Maybe I needed more to really get that fire inside of me roaring. Maybe Emma was right and one of these guys could do it. Love at first sight wasn't something that really happened in reality. It was something dumb made up to sell books and get people to go to rom-coms.

"Two PBRs, please!" Emma called out. "My treat."

"PBR? You're so generous."

"Hey, I know."