At Johnny Rockets

2am Sunday morning, I found myself sitting at the counter of Johnny Rockets, with my friend Patrick on my left. I was debating whether I needed fries to go with my apple pie and cheddar when Patrick nudged my shoulder. “Hey.”

“You can’t have more pie,” I said automatically.

Like he didn’t hear me, he speared another slice of gooey apple off my plate. “What do you think about that girl there?”

I moved my pie out of Patrick’s reach, just in case this was a ploy to finish off my midnight snack. “The one at the end of the counter?”

“Yeah.” He glanced over at her in the not-so-inconspicuous way men have of checking out the opposite sex. “She’s cute.”

I looked. She was cute. She had dark honey hair and a wide, Julia Roberts smile. “She looks drunk.”

“Everyone in this joint is drunk.” 

“I’m not,” I pointed out prissily.

“Do you think she’d call me if I gave her my number?”

Again I studied the girl in question. “It looks like she’s on a date.”

Patrick frowned. “But he’s a boy.”

“Which is perfect since she’s a girl. She’s half your age.”

“What does that matter?”

I sighed. Men.

“Go give her my number. It’s great to get an endorsement from a woman.” Patrick nudged my shoulder again.

Bracing myself so I didn’t fall off the stool, I shook my head. “But she’s on a date.”

“Tell her to call me when she’s ready for a real man.” He took out a card from his pocket, scribbling some digits on it, and handed it to me. “Please.”

His puppy dog look slayed me. Sighing, I took the card.

“Practice what you’re going to say now.”

“What? That you’re not bad, and that a couple showers should make you smell better?”

“Oh Jesus.” He gasped. “She’s leaving. Go now. Go go go!”

I groaned as he pushed me off the stool. Patrick was like an older brother, and I knew if I didn’t do this he’d taunt me about chickening out for the rest of my life. So I ran out the door into the cold night air. “Excuse me,” I said to the girl.

But she was drunk, so she didn’t hear me.

“Excuse me.” I tapped her back.

She laughed at something her other drunk friend said.

“Excuse me.” I gripped her coat and turned her around. Before she could say anything I handed her the card. “Here. My friend in there thinks you’re beautiful, and he’s a good guy.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet.” She stumbled only a little when I let go of her clothing. “Thanks!”

"Cheers,” I said and hurried back into the warm diner.

Patrick was doubled over laughing.

“What?” I asked as I sat down again.

“Even if she never calls me, and that will be a tragedy, I will never forget the image of you tackling her.” He guffawed, slapping the table.

“I didn’t tackle her.” I frowned at my plate. "Damn it, you ate my pie."

He pushed another plate closer to me. "But I ordered you some fries."

"Oh." I reached for one. "Well then."