How did I lose track after so few? Why don’t they use a new glass for each one? I came here to get a specific level of intoxicated, and two shots is too few, but four would bewaytoo many. This is a finely tuned process, you see.
I’m debating which error would be preferable when the bartender raises an eyebrow and the side of his mouth ticks up. “Everything okay?”
Crap.He probably thinks I’m already drunk. Maybe the blush will make him think I’m just really shy? He’s pretty cute—mid-thirties or so with dirty-blond hair that curls around his ears. He’s quite tall and broad; I’d have guessed he was a football player if it weren’t for the fact that he’s working at this bar right now. He’s got a decently well-groomed beard and bright blue eyes that are currently twinkling at me in amusement.
Hopefully he just thinks I have a crush. I clear my throat. “Yeah, sorry, just…trying to decide.” I point my finger at the shot glass and feel like slapping a palm against my forehead. Obviously he knows I am referring to the drink hejustasked me about.
I am unintentionally selling this shy-girl thing.
His smile stretches across his face and he glances at the only other person at the bar before looking back at me. “You visiting from out of town?”
My eyes flick over to the other guy a few seats down from me. He has his baseball cap pulled low and is nursing a light beer. I think he’s around the same age as the bartender, but it’s hard to tell with his head turned toward the TV in the far corner. As far as I know, he hasn’t looked at me since I came in fifteen minutes ago. Must be sports.
When I passed this place on my walk to a different bar, there was just something about the unassuming nature that drew me in. It felt like the perfect place to quietly accomplish my mission. It’s a narrow, long room with a bar top spanning almost the entire right side. Liquor bottles are stacked on the wall behind it with exposed brick peeking through. The two TVs at opposite ends of the bar are loud enough to hear but not so much that they’re the focus. High-top tables line the opposite side of the room, the wall there covered in a random collage of framed memorabilia. It’s somehow both eclectic and simple, like it can’t quite decide if it’s a sports bar or an old-school pub.
Hat Guy’s glass makes a thud on the bar as he sets it down, drawing my attention back.
I look over at the bartender and wonder why he glanced at him before asking me a question.
“Uh, no actually. I just moved here.” The reminder makes my stomach clench. Okay, I just need to figure out my shot consumption and then I can get out of here and commence Project Forget Today and That Mindfuck Phone Call.
“Hate it that much already?”
I whip my head to the right in surprise. Hat Guywaslistening, apparently. Oh frick, Hat Guy ishot. He’s got a Clark Kent vibe going, sans glasses, and…I need to stop staring before they mutually agree I have to leave for being weird.Crap, what did he ask?
“Sorry?” I feel my brow furrow a bit.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone come in here and slam two shots in the middle of the afternoon. Trying to stay warm? Newbies always struggle with the cold. No offense.” He has the decency to wince a little on the last words.
“Two!”Shoot.“I mean, um, excuse me?” I look over at the bartender, who is right where I left him, wearing an amused expression. He definitely thinks I’m crazy. Oh well, I’ll be out ofhere soon. “I’ve decided I’d like another. Please.” I tilt my head toward my empty glass and give him a polite smile.
He keeps the amused look in place and nods, glancing at Superman over there again before turning to grab the tequila.
I twist on my stool to face the most handsome stranger I’ve ever met. Is this some gift from the universe? A little distraction to help me through this shit day? If so, I’ll take it.
“Sorry about that,” I apologize, fully aware of the impression I’m leaving with these two. “Nothing wrong with Minneapolis, no. Not all that different from where I’m from in the weather department, actually.” I feel my face fall at the thought of home. Grief is such a bitch.
Clark’s mouth is slightly downturned and, dammit, even that’s super hot.Thanks for the eye-candy diversion, universe.
Focusing on using my normal, adult conversation skills, I try to dispel his frown of what I assume is confusion.
“Just a pretty bad day.” I shrug. “Kind of a long, weird story, but figured I’d try to forget it a little.” I shake my empty shot glass for emphasis and then set it back down.
Superman gives a slow nod at that, but his slight frown remains. I think back to what he said and feel myself talking before I can make a decision to stop.
“Did you know that a ‘beer blanket’ is actually a total misconception? You just think you’re warm because the blood vessels close to your skin expand when you drink, but your body temperature is actually getting lower. So it will feel like it’s working for a little, but then you’ll just be colder than you would have been without any alcohol,” I explain, probably totally unnecessarily. Hot people make me nervous.
“Noted,” he says, a hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.
“I swear I wasn’t a nerdy buzzkill in college.”
That hint of a smile turns into a full grin and I have to force myself to look away before I embarrass myself any more.
I turn back to the bartender as he refills my shot glass. I suppose refills make more sense than a new glass for every shot, but damn. Could’ve been signing the check by now if I had known how many shots I had taken. I grab the glass that’s now full and pause before raising it up. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Nate,” the bartender says, amusement slipping into his tone.
“Thanks, Nate,” I say as I lift my drink and then bring it to my lips to shoot back.Blegh. I close my eyes and relish the burn running down my throat. Soon I’ll have that Fuzzy Haze that puts a slight blur to my dark thoughts and makes the day bearable.
