Stella and the Boxer

Chapter 18

Ironically, moments after we reach the bar, the blonde from earlier and one of her friends show up and start talking to Brock and Charlie.

Brock sits next to me and Charlie leans beside me, on the corner of the bar.

Both girls are friendly, but seem very drunk. When Brock begins speaking to me again, singling me out, I envy them in their state and start taking longer sips of my cherry vodka mix.

“So, are you in school?”

“Yes, I’m a freshman at Clemson,” I respond, feeling guilty for having developed a distaste for him already, but also reminding myself that my conviction is justified, since he tried to upset Charlie.

“Smart girl, huh? I decided school wasn’t really for me. I co-own a tattoo parlor – “

“School isn’t for everyone,” I remind him, or myself; I’m not sure, “As long as you’re doing something that you love.”

I am becoming more buzzed, and my mind starts to wander. As he continues to tell me about his ink parlor, I study him, comparing his features to Charlie’s.

Brock’s hair is much longer – hanging just an inch or two above his shoulders – and straight; Charlie’s hair is curly and, which short in comparison, the body makes his more prominent, to me anyways.

Brock has a lengthy face, and his features are hard and pointy; Charlie’s face is well proportioned, and his features appear softer, but are somehow stronger as well.

Brock has a narrow mouth with plump lips and a faint mustache; Charlie has a wider mouth, pleasantly full lips, and his face is always cleanly shaven.

Brock’s collection of tattoos is certainly more expansive than Charlie’s, and the bright colors certainly don’t make them any more subtle. Every one that I glance at is very beautifully done, though.  

Brock has small, brown eyes that seem to mock you, like they belong always with a smirk; Charlie’s eyes are large and expressive, and the deepest blue.

On the outside, they are almost opposites, but I know that they are probably even more different on the inside.

Again, I start to scold myself, because I’ve just spent a fair bit of time thinking only of looks, and because he is very friendly, though I imagine it is only condescendingly.

I would guess that lots of girls find Brock’s original look attractive, and a few might even mistake his impishness for mystery or charm. He still makes me uncomfortable, and he is still talking.

“…He was an asshole though, I didn’t feel bad messing that one up. But you could trust me on you,” he says, and I hope that he is still talking about tattoos.

“I could see one on you, baby. Right here.”

I suddenly feel his hand on my back, right above my butt, and he shifts so that he can watch as his fingers graze the black fabric of my dress.

I jump slightly at the contact, but I don’t have time to react before I hear Charlie’s voice.

“Get your hand off of her. Now.”

Brock freezes at Charlie’s words, still looking at his own hand on me. Then, he starts to laugh, and finally looks towards Charlie, removing his hand.

“Oh, come on, Charlie. It’s not like me grazing her ass is going to keep you from taking her home, not tonight at least.”

Charlie grabs Brock’s arm and jerks him off of the stool.

In the same instant, I hop down from mine and quickly go to stand behind Charlie, wrapping both of my hands around his large arm, which is extended now, holding Brock in front of him.