I locked up my office and we both made our way down to the garage where we were supposed to meet in the first place. But it didn’t matter. Not when we were ditching work three hours early. She talked me through where the bar was in case I lost her in the parking garage, then we piled into our respective cars and I followed her out.
Then, fifteen minutes later, we were across town at a bar called, “Lackluster.”
“The name doesn’t promise much,” I murmured to myself.
But the bar was anything but as we stepped through the doors.
“Wow,” I whispered.
“See?” Brit asked as she linked her arm within mine. “I told you this place was awesome.”
The name boasted of some boring ass place, but the inside was lit up with blacklights and neon signs and all sorts of colorful decorations. My jaw dropped as Brit tugged me right up to the bar where the chairs we sat on lit up from beneath whenever pressure eased it down. My light was yellow, and it gave my legs an ethereal, almost angelic sort of glow. And when the bartender came up to us, Brit ordered for us both.
“Can we get two of your fishbowl margaritas, an order of cheese dip and chips, and a plate of your finger foods to split.”
I raised my finger. “Also, a sugar rim for me instead of salt.”
Brit nodded. “Same, please.”
Then, I turned to face my friend. “This place is awesome.”
She giggled. “It’s my favorite place to come after work. It’s far enough away to where I feel free to speak my mind and not piss anyone off.”
I wiggled my eyebrows. “Is it work venting time? Because I could use some work venting time.”
She slapped her hand against the bar. “Thank fuck, you’re my friend, you know that? Okay, so—wait, can I go first?”
I nodded. “Oh, you can so totally go first.”
The bartender handed us our behemoth margaritas before she launched into her spiel and my eyes widened. Yes, it was an actual fishbowl, and there was something in the drink that glistened and twinkled beneath the blacklights.
“It’s edible glitter,” Brit said.
I snickered. “Huh. That’s kind of awesome.”
She pointed to the bottom. “Those are gummy fishes, too. They’ll melt as you drink, and then it gives your margarita a different flavor every time one of them melts.”
I grabbed the straw and took a long pull. “Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff.”
She snorted. “So, anyway, work has been kicking my ass lately. I don’t know about you, but Mr. Ryker has been giving me way too many late nights.”
My eyes bulged. “I know, right!? I swear, half of my nights are overtime at this point.”
“Right!? I mean, we aren’t even working on a special project. It’s just a hell of a lot of shit that came out of nowhere.”
“Is this how he throws temper tantrums? He just passes his work off onto everyone else before he peaces out for the day?”
She cackled with delight. “God, grown men throwing tantrums is the biggest turn off.”
I snickered. “Right?”
She took a few sips of her drink. “All right, your turn. We can trade off.”
Our bartender sat the chips and cheese dip down and I had a few before I launched into my own shit. “Every day I take work home with me. Even if I work late, and even if I get everything on my list done, there’s always some dumbass email from JoJo--.”
She pointed at me. “See!? There it goes again!”
I rolled my eyes. “Can you just roll with it? It’s hard editing myself outside of work.”
