Hopping on one foot
Story: the Tale of Tate Mills
Title: Sing it Out Loud part 29
Rating: PG
Challenge: vanilla #30 Cloud/star-gazing, chocolate chip #2 Conservative, mango # 29. Breaking the rules
Toppings/Extras:
Word count: 1181
Summary: Tate has just started Sing It Out Loud the famous singing competition. He’s in the quarter finals. Tate is reconnected with Emery and meets a few new faces along the way. But as always, things don’t always go according to Tate’s plans.
Notes: This is part twenty-nine of the Tale of Tate Mills. Thank you for reading. There is a still a long way to go, so please bear with me and keep reading. Tate’s life is only going to get more interesting.
I give up all hope of relaxing when she sees a karaoke bar in the corner of the restaurant and a light bulb comes on above her head. She jumps up and walks up to the bar to talk to the D.J.
“My exceptionally cute date and I are semi-professional singers. If you all make a lot of noise he might come up and serenade all of you beautiful women,” She says into the microphone.
The women whistle, I shake my head. They cheer louder. Oh great now I have to do it. As I walk up to the stage women wolf-whistle and make cat calls at me. Song of choice: “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis Presley.
I barely have to glance at the monitor because I know this song so well, instead I look at Emery. She’s the only woman I can see. I sing out to her. I do not care about the other women who are tipped on the edges of their seats clinging to every word that escapes my mouth, hoping that I am singing just for them.
When I finish the song several women cry, but they all cheer loudly for me. One woman asks me if I’m on Sing It Out Loud I nod, even though we are supposed to keep it a secret. A very attractive middle aged woman pats me on the butt when I slide past her on the way back to my seat. She compliments my singing and slips her number into my back pocket. I must remember to give that to Kip next time I see him.
Pizza: stuffed crust, pineapple and bacon, medium. It’s delicious.
Dessert: Frozen Yogurt three flavors -peanut butter, strawberry, and cookie dough
During dessert we play a game like 20 questions to learn more about each other. I want to know everything about her.
“So what do you look for in a guy?” I ask her, simply for my own benefit, shoving spoonfuls of frozen yogurt in my mouth. I love sweets
particularly cookies of the chocolate chip variety, but frozen yogurt and ice cream are on my list too.
She shovels a spoonful of her yogurt, blueberry-banana, into my mouth. I hate banana flavored things, but I love bananas. It makes no sense to me either.
“He has to be kinda tall. I don’t like short guys.”
I feel like that’s a shot at me. Even though, I am technically not considered short by today’s standards (being about 172 centimeters or 5’8) I have a complex about my height. I wish I were taller. I would like to be six feet tall, but I never will be.
“What else?”
“He has to have good hair, and not red. Ginger guys are not attractive, in my opinion. I want him to be sweet but still manly. He has to be smart. I do not go for the dumb jock type. I want a man I can talk to who will call me on my bull shit. In short, he needs to be able to keep up with me. I’m pretty on the go. I’m very impulsive and he needs to stay in step with that.”
Let me fill the position.
“Are looks important?” I ask.
“Yes and no. I mean, I’m not a huge fan of buff guys, but there are exceptions to every rule,” she says.
I hope I am an exception.
I am not buff in a gross body builder way. I am buff as in I have very tight-toned muscles, especially for my body type. I am not a big guy by any means. I just enjoy working out. I think it’s good for relieving stress.
“My turn, have you ever committed a crime?” She asks, taking a spoonful of my peanut butter frozen yogurt.
“Can’t say that I have,” I reply, “Have you?”
“Besides flashing a couple of cops, yes, I have. I broke into an animal testing facility with some friends in college and we turned all the animals loose. We didn’t get caught though.”
What else would I have expected her to say? I am not surprised by this information. I think it’s cool that she would risk jail for a cause.
“Have you ever been in love?” She asks.
“Yes.”
I avoid going into detail. The rules of the game failed to specify if I had to.
“Would you ever date a younger man?” I lean in towards her slightly for her answer.
“I would never date a student if that’s what you’re asking. That’s not what you’re asking. Okay, um…depends on how much younger he is
than me.”
“Well, say, four years younger,” I say, because that’s exactly how much younger I am than her.
“It really depends on the guy and how much I like him. If he’s a dreamboat then hell yeah, I’ll date him, but if he’s just the boy-next-door, it really depends on what he’s like,” She says semi-seriously.
Before heading back to the hotel we decide to take a walk in the moonlight, since it’s beautiful out. The park is picturesque at night. It reminds me of the park near my house, except with palm trees instead of oaks.
The park has a magnificent fountain in the center that is lit up for the night. It sparkles in the moonlight. It’s very romantic; perhaps that is why Emery avoided it. She’s really not into mushy romance. She thinks chick movies are stupid, granted there are a few that are pretty realistic.
We walk side by side. I am very tempted to hold her hand, but I chicken out. She seems so excited about an elderly couple we spy slow dancing in the middle of the park. Suddenly, I want us to be that couple, old and happy and still very much in love, even in our seasoned years. The sight of them gives me hope.
Her excitement makes her sexy. I want to hug her, to touch her, to kiss her, to love her. Instead, I content myself with brief contact and daily interaction. I would not trade hat we have for anything for fear that it will ruin everything.
Emery pulls out some bull about wanting to be like that with her fiancé, a guy she makes up named Jason. The only reason I know its bull is because the name gave it away. Emery hates plain names. She told me that the day I met her. If a person’s name is too generic she loses interest. All her past boyfriends have had names such as Jasper, Fabian, and Zane.
“Emery, one more question,” I say plucking up the courage to do what I should have done before.
“What is it, Cuteness?”
“Will you go on a real date with me?” I ask.
“You’re adorable, you know that? Sure, I’m up for rule breaking, which is bad because I teach school, but hey I’m in California, the rules change here.”
Yes! I wonder what a date with Emery Banks will be like. I hope it’s no different than tonight.