Spiritedis the name of the bar hosting tonight’s event: A cocktail-making competition. “I’m excited for this one,” one of the other guests says. I smile at him, “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, man. I let my wife convince me to do this, and I need a strong drink,” he laughs.
“I didn’t have to convince him to doshit.”I didn’t expect the woman standing next to him to have such a deep, raspy voice. Looking at them both, they’re quite an odd pair. She, slightly taller than him, a little wild-looking with her frizzy hair whipping her forehead in the chilly breeze. And he, chubby and well-groomed with calmness in his eyes that shouldn’t be there, considering his wife is chewing his ear off for making it seem like he doesn’t want to be here. Actually, he looks like he’s enjoying it. He’s exactly where he wants to be.
“Alex, by the way,” he says, ignoring his wife and sticking his hand out to shake mine. I take it.
“Nick.”
“You uh, here by yourself, right?” He asks. “This is Cher, by the way. She must have left her manners back at the B&B.”
My eyes stretch as I notice Cher become visibly enraged. Her pale, freckled skin flushes crimson as she takes my hand and gives it a solid shake. The smirk on Alex’s face tells me all I need to know. Some men are genuinely annoyed by their wives, but he’s toying with her.
I look around to see if I can find Krystal again.
“So you were saying?” Cher pulls me back to their conversation, and I almost lose the fight not to roll my eyes.
I take a deep breath, holding it in my chest while I answer. “Yeah, came by myself.”
“Awww,” Cher coos, holding onto her husband’s arm and leaning into him.
Luckily, before I have to subject myself to any more of this, we finally start to move inside.
The bar is all warm neutrals and low yellow lighting. The lack of seasonal decor is a stark difference compared to what we’ve grown used to. Still, nutmeg, cinnamon, and the smell of liquor hang in the air — fitting for the night’s activity.
There are six bar tables set up, and small trays with tumblers, shot glasses, measuring cups, and mixing devices sit in the center of each one. I spot Krystal, the low light hugs the contours of her face so perfectly, the warmth contrasting with the cool tones of her hair and the white figure-hugging turtleneck she’s sporting today. She pulls out a barstool from thetable in the farthest back corner and places it with another. Then she settles into the remaining seat, alone.
My heart thrums as I move to join her. I refuse to let her do this.
“So!” Alex tosses his arm over my shoulder, and I push all the air in my body through flared nostrils. “I’m thinking tonight we spice things up and do a little boys against girls action,” he explains.
I shrug his arm off me. “I’m not a boy,” I correct him. “And I don’t know if thewomen—”I’m stopped short as I look around at all the men and women, separated, each group huddled together. Before I can compute what’s happening, one of the other women approaches Krystal, asking if she can join her.
“Fantastic,” I mutter, slouching off to one of the empty tables, not really caring who sits next to me. Of course, Alex takes the cue as an invitation. He slides in beside me, immediately drumming his fingers against the table.
“You know.” He leans closer. “I lied earlier.”
I blink down at him, hoping my eyes convey how dead inside I feel right now.
“I’mlovingthis shit, man,” he snickers, slapping his flat open palm on the table.
God bless his wife.
“Really,” I deadpan. “I couldn’t tell.”
Gayle struts to the center of the room with who I assume is our instructor for the night. He’s just around my height, so, somewhere between 6’1 and 2…he’s broad, with sculpted arms and shoulders. I can only see what’s from the elbow down, but my guess is that those tattoos extend all the way across his chest and up the side of his neck.
The ladies are already giggling to each other about him, and I wonder how soon it will be before the men start regretting this decision.
“Alright, everyone!” Gayle begins. “Tonight is our Christmas Cocktail Competition, andthisis your instructor and your judge for the evening, Marco.” She rests a gentle hand on his forearm as the ladies hum conspiratorially.
“Where’d she find this guy?” Alex mumbles to me, not taking his eyes off his wife.
I fight the urge to turn to look at Krystal, not because I care if she’s drooling over evil Rome Flynn, but to see if she’s alright or not…to see if maybe she wished it was me sitting next to her right now.
“Hello gentlemen,” he addresses us, “andladies.”
As he drones on, shamelessly flirting with the women while he gives a brief introduction to all the tools we’ll be using, I tamp down my irritation. This is going to be a long night.
