The new barman’s been giving me the eye all night. He’s tall with defined biceps and straight shoulders, but he’s not my type really. Way too clean cut, and he’s a barmen for fucks sake. What can he possibly have to offer me?
My head feels heavy from the weight of too many tequilas. The coke buzz has long worn off and I’m sliding big time. My fight with Eliza is still hovering at the back of my mind, and every time I picture her draping herself over that greasy wog I feel sick and a white rage furls up inside. Time for another.
“Hey, can I get some service over here?“
I wave a twenty dollar bill at the cute barman and he excuses himself from his chat with a sycophantic female patron and comes over.
“What’ll it be?“
He has warm eyes, dark chocolate brown and lovely defined eyebrows with long lashes. Quite sexy come to think of it.
I run my inspection down over his broad chest and flat stomach in the tight white tee and change my mind about the tequila. I scrunch the twenty into my hand and give him a small smile.
“What time do you get off?”
He looks surprised, but pleased.“Why you asking?”
I watch his hands as he absently wipes down the bar. Mmm, strong, slightly veiny. Long fingers. Promising. I lean right into the bar and clench my arms to my side to beef up my cleavage. Not that it needs it, mind you. I have playboy breasts and they’re real. Thank god, Eliza was good for something. Can’t fault her genes.
“Why do you think?”
He blushes and I actually find it endearing. He searches for something to say but seems lost. I decide to put him out of his misery. I reach out and trace the grooves of the beer tray with a fingernail, not taking my eyes off him.
“Look, I’m not really one to play games. Are you interested or not?” I stare at him boldly.
He looks down and then gives a nervous laugh.
“You don’t mince your words at all, do you?“
“What would be the point of that?”
He stops wiping and drops the dishrag, bracing himself against the bar, leaning in a little closer.
“Some would say a bit of wordplay adds to the romance.”
I lean in and whisper near his ear.
“I’m not looking for romance. I’m just looking to get laid.”
He shakes his head sorrowfully. “That’s a shame then,” he pushes away from the bar. “Cause I’m not your man.“
It takes me a moment to process the rejection.
“Come on, you’re not interested?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“You don’t even know my name.”
I smirk. “An old fashioned guy – how sweet. So, tell me your name if that makes you feel better.”
He eyes the other bartender a few feet away and lowers his voice.
“Look, I’m past that whole one night stand thing. I was kinda hoping to take you out some time.“
Then, cute smile. Lovely straight teeth.
I sigh. Too bad, he would have been good. I tug my jacket off the back of the bar stool and slip it on.
“Sorry, but I don’t date.“
He laughs, and it’s a deep timbre sound. Warm and lifting.
“What do you mean, you don’t date?”
“Just forget it.“ I sling my bag over my shoulder. “I’ll see ya.“
“Hey, don’t go…”
I push my way through the crowd dancing to some shit Indie band. What a drag. Now I have to go home alone. I’m not in the mood. What a shit day this has been. Inexplicably, I feel tears prick behind my eyes and I blink them back. I don’t cry. I never cry.
I still can’t believe he said he wanted to date. Jesus, does anybody date these days? I briefly think of Bryce. Sometimes I still miss him. It’s been years now but the pain is still raw.
Dating. No longer my thing.
Photo by margot.capespine