The utter relief I feel is indescribable.
After I wash my hands, I do my best to dry my shirt under the hand dryer, but I’m soaked.
On the plus side, thank God I drank too much, because I don’t feel as embarrassed as I should when I exit the ladies’ room and what comes out of my mouth is “God, that was the pee of a lifetime.”
Nick is exactly where I left him, locking the door again. “You have no idea how often people say that coming out of that restroom.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” I slap my hand onto his shoulder. “My hero.”
Nick gives me a long, curious look, tilting his head a little bit. “Just a guess here, but is it possible you’ve been drinking?”
“Me? No!”
He takes off his hoodie. “I’m glad you thought to bang on my door.”
“I loved this place in high school. Or maybe it was middle school. Actually, it might’ve been Buffalo Wild Wings.”
“Okay, that’s enough.” Nick hands me the hoodie. It’s warm. It smells like him. “You can stop flattering me now. It’ll go to my head.”
“I’ll get your sweatshirt all wet.” I slip my arms into the sleeves before he can change his mind.
“I need to wash it anyway. And you’re dripping all over the floor I just mopped.”
Maybe it’s the slight haze from the drinks I consumed, combined with gratefulness and the high of not bursting one of my vital organs, but I’m sure there’s a stupid grin on my face. I follow him over to the bar area.
“What are you doing here so late?” I lean against a barstool, unsure if I’m attempting to be seductive or trying to very gradually lie down and nap.
“Period close. At the end of the month, I send inventory numbers to corporate. Weigh all the bottles. Put everything in aspreadsheet. And after this, I’m replacing the rinse pump/wash pump in the dishwasher so we don’t have to wait for the repair guy.”
“Wow, I guess my mom was right about your toolbox.” He gives me a baffled smile and I realize how drunk I sound. Using the sleeve of his hoodie, I wipe the rain off my phone. “I’ll just call another Lyft.”
“You hungry?”
“No. I’m fine.” I’m shaking my head, even though I’m famished. Or maybe I’m nodding. “That’s okay.”
Nick writes something down on his clipboard. “You’d be surprised how many different ingredients I can deep-fry.”
My whole body perks up. “Like what?”
“Little piece of cheesecake folded in a flour tortilla.” He looks up. “Drizzled with honey chipotle sauce.”
The alcohol-induced hunger must be showing in my wide, pathetic eyes.
“Taquitos filled with brisket and then dipped in queso mixed with zing sauce?”
I pick a white rag off the bar and wave it. “Okay, I surrender. Yes, please. Feed me.”
I can tell this makes him so happy. “Let me finish weighing these bottles and I’ll give you the tour.”
He has this way of unabashedly smiling that’s contagious. I feel myself breaking into a grin just looking at him. Who even am I? I take a seat at one of the stools and try to assess my level of intoxication while Nick continues his inventory.
A glass of water appears in front of me. “First one’s on the house.” He tosses a straw atme.
I down the water, my knee bouncing against the front panel of the bar. I watch Nick methodically weigh a bottle of Malibu, then a bottle of Jack Daniel’s Apple Whiskey, then Blue Curaçao. Ingredients that Hal would add to a mansplainer’s mai tai.
“You’ll have to let me know which of your staff members has the heavy pours of”—I squint at the label on the next bottle—“Watermelon Schnapps.” I nearly gag.
“You must be pretty familiar with extra-sugary drinks working at a tiki place.”
