"If you like sweet with a hint of fruit, then yes, it's a great one," I said, finally finding my words.
He turned to the waiter and paused before saying, "I'll have what he's having."
I laughed at the movie line and saw a smile tease his lips, but it was the way he kept twisting the watch on his wrist that gave his nerves away.
He looked away and kept silent after that. I wanted to take in the lines of his face, the blue in his eyes, that fucking dimple, and I'd be damned if I wasn't curious about what was making him so tense when he'd walked in the bar.
Yep, there was no denying it, I was attracted to my bar neighbor, and for the first time in a while, I wanted to do something about it.
I was thinking about how to best strike a conversation with the somber man when the waiter came over with his drink.
"Is there anything else I can get you, Daddy?"
"Er what? Oh, er no, thank you. Just the wine. Thank you."
I wanted to roll my eyes at the waiter's obvious and unabashed flirting. Maybe it was just part of his act or what he thought was expected of a waiter in a gay bar. Regardless, he wasn't reading the cue that he was making the guy uncomfortable, and that got my hackles up just a little.
"Are you here on your own, or are you meeting someone, Daddy?"
What. The. Fuck.
I'd tried to keep my eyes on my drink up until then.
"He's with me," I blurted.
Both the man and the waiter looked at me, and I waited for either to challenge my obvious lie, but the waiter simply turned and went on to flirt with another customer.
My drinking neighbor looked more relaxed.
"Thanks," he said.
"I'm sorry to have stepped in, but you didn't look like you were enjoying the attention."
"Yeah, it's been a long time since someone was that forthcoming." He laughed, but then something passed over his eyes that I couldn't decipher. I almost didn't hear when he said to himself, "The last time that happened I ended up marrying the guy."
Damn it, why were the good ones always taken? Not that I knew if this guy was one of the good ones or not. There was something about him I couldn't put my finger on, but I felt this compulsion to find out.
He exuded a quiet strength with an underlying layer of vulnerability. How could I even see that when we'd barely exchanged any words?
Maybe I should've left before I did anything I would regret. I was single, but the guy was clearly not.
"He died three years ago," he said, still more to himself.
I realized then that I hadn't acknowledged anything he'd said. His dark blue eyes were fixed on mine, and I wondered if even through my glasses my eyes would give away my attraction.
"I'm sorry."
He smiled and nodded.
"This wine is really nice," he said. "I'm not really a wine person, but sometimes I'm in the mood for it, you know?"
"I'm the same."
"What do you normally drink?"
"Beer, Sagres. You?"
"Same, but the beer of choice in Porto is Super Bock. I never used to like it as much but acquired the taste for it."
