Stay on campus to hang with Mars

“New York, where trash lines streets and everything’s expensive,” you say in a sing-song voice. “Fat chance I’m going there, Val.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Val laughs. “I bet you’d be singing a different tune if Mars was coming along.”

“If Mars was coming along, I’d switch from Jay-Z to Holst in a heartbeat,” you say. “You know I can’t go to New York. I’ve got to stick with the classics.”

“You flatter me,” Mars laughs, before snapping off a crisp salute. “But you had better! I am Mars, the Bringer of War! Sergeant Knight, I order you to march with me to the Pub!”

“Tsk tsk, anachronism,” Val grins with a wag of her finger. “You’d best be calling him Knight Knight.”

“And you’d better call him Night Night,” Mars counters, “because you sure aren’t seeing any more of him tonight.”

“Right, right, it’s night night,” Val laughs, waving the two of you goodbye. She scampers off in her dress, headed for the Big Apple, while you and Mars make your way back to campus.

The Pub, formally known as the Stonewall Tap, is a rinky-dink shack tacked onto the side of the chemistry building. Legend has it that the beers here used to be brewed in the department itself, but those days are long gone. Now it’s just got the regular selection of big brand beers and cheap wine for students to get drunk on. The posters on the walls look like they were put up in the fifties. Good, honest-to-God Americans ready to stand up against the threat of Communism.

“They’re not going to card us here?” you half-whisper to Mars, almost shocked as you walk straight into the university-run building.

“Why would they?” Mars laughs. “They’re not going to turn you or I away for being a couple years shy of twenty-one. That would stop them from overcharging us for this grand selection of drinks.”

She sweeps her hand across the bar, and you take in the options. It’s not inspiring.

“What can I get ya?” the bartender asks, leaning over the counter. You have to admit, she’s moderately cute. Long dark hair, a dress just short enough to get the imagination going, and a friendly smile completes her look.

Mars, as if sensing your wandering eyes, brushes up against you and leans over the counter, her dress hiking up ever so slightly to reveal more of her toned waist. Your attention is immediately fully captured by her.

“Any porters that you’d recommend?” she asks. “Something on the sweeter side?”

“I’ve got just the thing for you,” the bartender says. She turns to you, cocking her head. “And for the gentleman?”

“I’ll have what she’s having,” you say, gently ribbing Mars. Then, you reach into your wallet and slide across a credit card. “I’d like a taste of what I’m paying for.”

“Sure thing,” the bartender nods. “I’ll just put the card on your tab.”

With that she turns around and gets to her business, pouring two tall glasses of foaming dark beer. She sets them down in front of you. You take a swig and give an appreciative nod. There’s a lot of fruit in there, a taste of cinnamon, and maybe even a hint of maple syrup.

“This would be perfect for a brunch,” Mars says, after getting a taste herself.

“Or for a nice night out with a pretty girl,” you say, looping an arm around her shoulder.

Mars laughs and rolls her eyes, but does nothing to dislodge your arm.

“Want to find a table?” she asks instead.

The two of you find a (relatively) quiet corner of the pub, watching two couples play darts while you savor your beers. But you’re doing a bit more of savoring your company, sneaking glances at Mars, admiring the way the low light spills over her cheeks and the round of her lips. She looks at you and raises an eyebrow, inviting you to share what’s on your mind. You briefly consider flattering her more, but decide against it. There’s such a thing as too much of a good thing.

“So…” you say, leaning back in your chair, mind spinning over possible conversation topics. “Classes killing you too?”

“Me, and everyone else. This is Stonewall,” Mars chuckles. “I’ve got an essay on the auctioneer’s chant due for my writing seminar in two days, and it’s going to be… gonna be a B- grade, now a B, anyone give me a B, wanna give me a B, going around for a B, there’s a B grade now a B+, now B+, now B+, will ya give a B+, will ya—”

You’re taken aback by the roll of words that come from Mars’ mouth, stifling a laugh as you put up your hand.

“Sold to the handsome man across the table!” she says, slamming a fake auctioneer’s gavel onto the table.

“I’ll drink to that,” you say, and the two of you raise your glasses and polish off your drinks.

“So, is it going to be a busy night for you too?” she asks.

“I was thinking about going to the Theta fundraiser, but present company is rather pleasant,” you say. “Maybe you’d like to come along?”

Mars glances down at her phone.

“I’ll pass,” she smiles. “It’s not really meant for the… feminine gaze. But the fundraiser’s starting soon if you want to get in before the doors close.”

Mars +15