“Don’t be a stranger,” he mutters dryly, as he counts out the night’s till.
“I won’t,” I promise, as I turn towards the booth and find it empty.
I try to tell myself that it’s for the best. That I should get through this week. This trip. That I should settle into my new role, my new routine before I bring someone else into it. I can always text her or stop into the bar for a nightcap. It’s not as if I’ll never see her again, right?
I rationalize the decision with myself, as I make my way outside.
The street is quiet, the sticky summer air already clinging to my skin as I throw my bag over my shoulder and turn to head home. But to my surprise, I find Mira leaning against the wall, one combat boot kicked up on the brick. Now that she’s standing in front of me, I notice that her baggy black jeans hang low on her hips, accentuating her hourglass figure, her cropped baby tee stopping just above her belly button. My fingers long to touch the exposed skin there, to know if it’s as soft as I’ve imagined.
“After-party at my place?” Lilah shouts from down the street, but I don’t move, content to stay here in this moment with Mira.
“You want to go?” she asks, pushing herself off the wall to stand up straight in front of me. Even in her platform Doc Martens she tops out at five foot four, but there’s an intimidating air about her that I’m certain has put quite a few unruly groomsmen in their place. Her body is so close to mine I can feel her heat. She smells like citrus and honey as I breathe her in.
“I definitely don’t need any more alcohol,” I admit, grateful to feel a little more sober. “Did you want to?”
Mira shakes her head.
We’ve never lingered past closing, Mira always declining my offer to walk her to her apartment, but tonight she’s staring at me as if she has nowhere else to go.
“What were you going to say earlier before Finn kicked us out?”
I swallow hard, finding my courage.
“I thought, now that I’m not your bartender anymore, you might want to get a drink. Together. Not here.”
“Hmm,” she says in mock contemplation. “So you being my bartender, that was the only thing holding you back?”
“Oh yeah. It’s like doctor-patient relationships. Very frowned-upon within the libations community.”
“Good to know,” she giggles, and this time I notice it. The unabashed glee that radiates from her as she takes a step closer to me. Her eyes are focused, locked on me like I’m the last slice of cake at the deli counter as I stand perfectly still, afraid I’ll spook her with any sudden movements.
“So what do you think?” I ask, realizing she technically hasn’t given me an answer. “Are you free next Friday, because I can get a reservation at—”
I can’t finish my thought because she’s twisting her fingers into my shirt and pulling my mouth to hers, the salty taste of tequila on her tongue. Of all the times I’ve imagined this moment, it never scratched the surface of how it actually feels. Of the soft press of her lips against mine. The warmth of her tongue as it slides into my mouth. The sensation of sugar and salt against my tastebuds.
My hands instinctively find her waist, as I guide her back to the brick, placing a hand against her head to protect it from the rough stone.
I pull back for a moment to take her in. Her dark curls are frizzing in evening humidity, her hazel eyes darkened, and her cherry lips are swollen. God, she’s beautiful.
She only gives me a moment before she threads her fingers through my hair, bringing my mouth to hers. And when her nails scratch against my skin, pulling at the nape of my neck in a way that makes my entire body ache, I can’t control the moan that escapes from my mouth. Embarrassment rushes to my cheeks as I ready myself for mockery, but she pulls harder.Fuuuuucck.
As good as she feels, I’m desperate to know what noises I can elicit out of her as I slide my hand beneath the thin fabric of hershirt. The bra she’s wearing is just as thin as her shirt, as I run my thumb along her hard nipples. Her breath hitches as I lightly squeeze one between my fingers, and I swear I forget place, time, and all other earthly things that ground me until a car whizzes by, its horn honking as it passes.
“Get a room,” the driver shouts as they roll through the yellow light. The interruption is enough to remind me that we aren’t in any position to take this further. Not here at least. And not when there are so many things I need to tell her.
“You said you finished those books I loaned you, right?”
“Yeah, last night,” I say, taking a moment to process the subject change.
Her lips curve into a seductive smile. “With you leaving and all, it’s probably best if I get them tonight, don’t you think?”
And even though I know it’s the wrong decision for so many reasons, I grab her hand and lead her to my apartment.
3 Mira
My phone’s ringing. The incessant beeps and chimes are as pleasant as a baby screaming in a fancy restaurant as I roll over to silence it.
Had I known that hangovers would be even worse at twenty-nine, I would have partied more in my college years. I can barely open my eyes, my lids heavy with sleep, as I extend my arm over towards my nightstand. But instead of finding my secondhand dresser, covered with unread books and half-empty water glasses, there’s nothing but empty space beside me as I almost fall out of the bed.
