When she recovers, she turns to me.
“I suspect this is not good whiskey.” She shakes her head. “I assumed for twelve dollars each it would be decent.”
Ah, that explains it. She got the bottom-shelf stuff.
“Why’d you get whiskey? Sorry, whiskies.” I fight back a smile, and she does as well. I notice it makes a dimple pop out on her right cheek. Fuck, that’s cute.
Without warning, her expression flattens, and pain fills her eyes again. She glances down at her hands and picks at her fingernail polish.
“I needed something strong. Something to let me forget for a while. According to the internet, whiskey’s a good choice.” Her voice is practically a whisper by the time she gets to the last words, and I’m not even sure she’s still talking to me.
Usually, at a moment like this, I would fumble through some awkward words and uncomfortably end the interaction. Tonight is not normal, though.
“Well, if it has to be whiskey, I can’t, in good conscience, let you drink that shit.”
Her head whips up, and she looks over at me. The crinkles around her eyes and her furrowed brow tell me she’s questioning what I mean.
Maybe she’s wondering if I’m hitting on her. I’m not. Not that I’m not attracted to her, but that’s not what she needs right now, and I’m not a dickhead. Well, most of the time I’m not.
I catch the bartender’s eye and wave him over.
“Do you have Macallan?”
The bartender’s eyes widen.
“Uh, yes, sir. But it’s forty doll?—”
“Please bring us a bottle and two fresh glasses.” His jaw drops.
“Sir, are you sure?”
I guess I can appreciate that he’s asking. I’m on my fourth whiskey, and I’m sure he runs into people with buyer’s remorse when they sober up and realize they spent a few hundred dollars on a bottle of whiskey.
“Quite sure. You can run it through the card before you open it, if it makes you feel better.” He nods and walks away.
When he’s gone, I turn my focus to her. “I’m happy to join you if you’d like, but I’m also okay with you taking the bottle and drinking alone—as long as you’re not driving. You also have to promise me you won’t drink the whole thing in one sitting. You’re a newbie, after all.”
“Nope. Not driving. But I can’t let you buy me a bottle of whiskey just because I’m having the worst day of my life.”
That punches me right in the chest, and a lump forms in my throat. I take a moment to get past it.
“Well, coincidentally, today’s also…” I take a second, and I know by the way she’s gazing at me now that she senses something serious is coming. “Today’s the anniversary of the worst day of my life. Thirteen years. This one is my last drink down here,” I lift my nearly empty glass, “then I’m planning tocontinue in my suite. A little more dignified, I think, seeing as I’ve been here a while.”
I force a smile, but I know she’ll see through it because she’ll recognize it as the same thing she does.
She says nothing but stares at me for at least a solid thirty seconds, and I’m certain she thinks I’m a sleazebag. Then, she reaches into her purse, retrieves two twenty-dollar bills, and tosses them on the bar top. My cheeks heat because now I know my oversharing must weird her out.
She stands.
Fuck. I let my head drop in humiliation and focus on my hands. I hope that if I hold this pose long enough, she’ll be gone by the time I look up.
“Let’s go then.”
Well, that gets my attention, and I whip my head up to gawk at her like a fool.
“What?” Then it dawns on me. She’s a beautiful woman in a bar with a buzzed man telling her he’s going up to his suite. She must think I was about to invite her. “Shit, no, sorry. I wasn’t trying to have sex with you.”
Shut the fuck up.
