Marcela
You know I worry about you.
And I love you. Please trust that I know how to live my life.
“Want something stronger?” The bartender nods at my half-empty water glass.
“Yes. Thank you, Ben,” I say to his name tag, which is across from a patch of chest hair peeking out from under an unbuttoned black dress shirt. Trimmed or not, it has to be a health code violation. “Bourbon. Neat, please.”
His brows soften when I push my glasses to the bridge of my nose and wait. The chemistry of bourbon is a savory science, one often overlooked in favor of instant gratification. I’ve never made whiskey, but I appreciate its flavor complexities.
“House brand or something else?”
“Surprise me.” My tone excites a smile.
Ben strolls to the other end of the onyx bar to retrieve a bottle from an illuminated wooden shelf. It’s not at the top, which means I can afford it on my monthly research assistantship salary. “Try this.” Calloused fingers extend a glass tumbler.
The burn from the first sip creeps down my throat. It’s stronger than I expected.Jinkies. “It’s good.” I cough.
His chuckle rattles the chest hair that I pray isn’t floating in my drink. “What brings you here?”
Entertaining the possibility of allowing a man to play in my guts.
“Wanted some fresh air,” I lie.
“Fresh air,” he repeats, wiping down the counter with a smirk. “There’s a park not too far from here you might want to check out. Since you’re old enough to cross the street.”
I wince. “How much did you hear?”
He cants his head from side to side, the overhead recessed lights catching in his auburn strands. “Only that you’re trying something new, which may involve your legs in the air at some point.” He smiles at my groan. “Your secret is safe with me. You hear a lot in this job. No judgment. I take it it’s your first time? A one-night stand?”
I push up my glasses. “What makes you say that?”
“Truth?”
“I like facts.”
“You’re about four hours too early to meet anyone. We won’t get packed until nine,” he says.
That explains why it’s so empty.
Do people not come out for dinner and conversation before a night of sexual indulgence? My food takes at least thirty minutes to settle before I do any activities that exert energy.
I glance at an older couple at a nearby table.
“Early nightcap,” he says. “Don’t think they’ll entertain a threesome.”
A guy at the opposite end of the bar is wearing an ironed sweater.
“Lives next door. He got caught with two sex dolls in his car. Said it was so he could ride the HOV lanes.”
Ew.
I straighten. “Maybe I wanted to eat a burger in peace before any proclivities.”
“We don’t sell burgers. The best I can do are marinated olives or a cheese plate.”
What kind of place is this? Starvation will hit me before the courage to ask a stranger to touch me on the inside does.
