“Take that back right now,” Savannah says, her big blonde hair bobbing as she speaks animatedly. “You never had a hoe phase, Kate. It’s overdue. It’s like every woman’s rite of passage to have a certain amount of time dedicated to getting railed by as many men as your sweet, little heart desires.”
“How long has your rite of passage been then?” Chelsea jokes at Savannah who grins.
“For some, it’s a rite of passage. For others, it’s a lifestyle. Plus, I do keep some of them for a few months until they bore me,” Savannah says.
“I wouldn’t even know where to start when it comes to hooking up with someone,” I say. My cheeks feel like they’re flaming hot.
“Kate, you’re a Miami ten. Please, you could go touch the arm of any man in this bar from the age of twenty-one to nearly in the grave and they would say yes,” Chelsea says.
A Miami ten was beyond generous. I knew I was attractive, maybe minus the scars that hadn’t faded on my neck and collarbone, but I’d be lying if getting cheated on didn’t take a hit to my ego.
I didn’t know if I was good at flirting; hell, I wasn’t sure I knew how to flirt. The last five or so years felt like a blur of resentment, loneliness, and frustration. I swallowed the rest of my drink, hating how unsure I feel about taking a step out of my comfort zone.
Tired of being on autopilot and accepting less than what I deserve. I’m ready to lift this fog and try, really put myself outthere and figure out who I am. Life is too short to not actually live it, I just don’t have a single clue where to start.
“Another?” a deep voice from behind the bar asks.
I glance up, and it isn’t the barely legal young man that waited on us before.
No, he’s all man, and he certainly doesn’t look like a bartender. Not with the way his white dress shirt is rolled up against his forearms that are delicious. Could forearms be delicious? I’m not sure anyone else’s have ever been, but his are thick, strong forearms lined with a phlebotomist’s wet dream of veins.
The previous bartender wore a button down of drinking parrots on them, while this man looks like he just got off work at his finance job. But there’s something about his smile, the dimple on his chin, and the way his hair looks like he’s run his hands through it five hundred times today that tells me he doesn’t work in an office. He looks too put together to be working behind a bar, but maybe that’s his whole appeal.
He looks like a GQ model with his sun-kissed skin, strong jawline, and eyes that bordered between blue and green. I bet it depends on what color he’s wearing and they’d shift in tone.
“We’d all like another. We’re celebrating,” Savannah says, ogling the man, and I wonder if my reaction mirrors hers.
“Oh? What are we celebrating tonight?” he asks, a dark eyebrow arching in my direction as he takes three martini glasses and starts mixing the drinks.
I watch in awe as his large skilled hands mix our drinks and wonder what it would be like to be that Boston shaker right now. He’s assured in a way I never really noticed in a man before, almost effortless. I bet he doesn’t have to flirt, he just asks a woman to get on her knees and she falls to the floor, her tongue lolling out, waiting for him to take what he wants.
The idea is…erotic.
“Our friend Kate here is finally divorced,” Chelsea says and I can’t decide if the heat on my cheeks is from embarrassment or from the alcohol they keep plying me with.
Mostly, when you tell people you’re going through a divorce or have just gotten divorced, you get looks of pity, or they don’t even know how to react.
Not this mysterious bartender. He smiles instead, placing the drink in front of me.
“Well, you’ll have to let me know his name, so if he ever comes in, I can give him a free drink for the misfortune of losing you.”
I blink at him, and he winks, helping the customers next to us. Goddamn, he’s smooth as fuck.
Savannah and Chelsea both look over at me with wide eyes and I realize I didn’t speak at all during that encounter. Just as I suspected, I’m shit at this.
“He was flirting with you, that’s how you seduce someone. Next time he comes back, say something, anything,” Savannah says.
I turn on my stool so I’m facing her. “Like what? Hi Mr. Hot bartender, you look like you were sent here from the planet Krypton to save the universe in the form of giving an orgasm to every woman who looks at your handsome face?”
Savannah shrugs, and her face scrunches into a frown that says maybe that wasn’t too bad. I hold my drink up to my lips taking a sip as I conjure up something better than comparing him to Superman. Nothing else comes to mind.
“I’m no good at this, maybe I should download some apps or something,” I say, noticing the drink he made tastes way better than the last round.
“Apps aren’t a bad idea, but you have a guy right in front of you, who was totally looking at your tits and complimenting you. Plus, he looks like he fucks well. It doesn’t hurt that he seems ageappropriate either, not that I would judge you if you wanted to be a cougar for a little bit. Those young ones have stamina.”
I blink at my friend before shooting back the rest of the cocktail. Maybe some liquid courage is what I need. Or maybe it will make things worse.
But what’s the worst that could happen? I make a complete fool out of myself and we just can’t drink here anymore? Those odds aren’t bad, and I need to practice. If I want to actually live like I’ve been telling myself, then I need to make a change. I need to take the first steps.
