“Whatcha having?” He asks, leaning over the bar on his forearms.How am I supposed to know?
“Umm,” I scan the top shelf, my eyes working their way across the range of bottles, all different shapes and sizes, but all housing similar coloured liquids. How am I supposed to know which one I’ll like? I know most guys go for beer, but I’ve never been interested from the smell alone. Zander turns, following my eyeline to the shelves, resting back on his elbows.
“Didn’t think you would go for the heavy stuff,” he chuckles.
“How am I supposed to know what to choose without tasting them?”
“Well, most people just take a chance on those kinda things.”
“Too risky.” Zander’s face lights up with a knowing smirk. He knows I would never risk my stomach or my taste buds so frivolously.
“How about I make you something special?” His brow quirks up as he leans in closer. The words are no more than a suggestive whisper, like he knows exactly what I’ll enjoy. And, as always, he wouldn’t be wrong– in the drinks department, anyway.
“Hmm, okay. But if I don’t like it, you’re paying.”
“Deal.” He flashes me a bright white smile– the kind that only raises one side of his mouth, and follows it up with a wink as he spins to the shelves behind, grabbing three different bottles between his fingers. Handling them expertly, his large hands hold them steady and sure. I watch as he flips bottle after bottle upside down with grace and confidence. It’s hard not to notice the muscles bulging under the sleeves of his t-shirt, and the way his veins wriggle to make room for them.
A thought quickly flashes through my mind– not long enough to gain traction, but long enough for me to recognise it as completely intrusive–I wonder what else he handles well.
Like he heard my thoughts, his head tips up. With his hand wrapped around the soda gun, he moves his arm up and down cockily as the glass quickly fills. Demanding brown eyes find mine, and now we’re locked in a game of tension-fueled chicken.
“Hey, you must be Jules,” a deep voice cuts through the air. Something heavy lands on my shoulder, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up, and the skin underneath to tingle uncomfortably.
“Zander’s Jules?” Another voice, higher-pitched,hollers from somewhere unknown. I spin on the stool, annoyed that I’ve lost our little game, to face the owner of the hand clamped around my shoulder. Standing beside me–so close his thighs are pressed into the side of my own, might I add–is someone I’ve heard of, but never met until now. The tattoos snaking up his thick forearms and winding around each of his fingers tell me this is Zander’s manager,Toby.
“It’s good to finally put a face to the name, a good-looking one too,” he says confidently, all whilst giving my shoulder a squeeze.
“Toby, right?”
“Zander been singing my praises, has he?”
“He told me about the tattoos, and you’re the only one here with them, so…” I shrug, hearing a laugh–poorly disguised behind a cough–coming from the bar. Zander rapidly turns away, spluttering obnoxiously into his fist.
“Well, that’s…Something.” He releases my shoulder and settles on the stool to my left. With his legs spread wide to accommodate his large thighs, he takes his time looking over me. I feel every inch his eyes cover, heating my skin with each pass. “So, tell me about yourself. Zander has been very hush-hush when it comes to you.” I risk a glance over the bar. Knowing his reason for not talking about me much, it doesn’t surpriseme that he looks slightly uncomfortable. I raise my shoulders and give him a gentle smile, letting him know that I’m ok with Toby’s questions, before spinning to face him.
“Well, I like to watch anime, the older stuff mostly, but some of the newer stuff is pretty decent. I’ve been friends with Zander since we were five. I collect rare Pokémon cards. I actually started a collection of graded ones not so long ago. My favourite food is pasta, fusilli, not penne–neverpenne. I like lemonade, but only when it’s flat. And my favourite season is winter.”
Toby stares at me wide-eyed. It’s hard to tell if he’s impressed or just catching up with everything I unloaded.
“Damn, don’t like leaving anything to the imagination, do you?” He huffs out a laugh before continuing– “Well, Jules, I also like anime, although I’m probably not as familiar with it as you are. My favourite food is tacos, and my favourite season is summer.” He looks impressed with himself, and I have to admit, I’m not finding it half as hard to keep up conversation.
“Hard or soft?” I ask as he takes a sip from his water bottle. The vein in his temple bulges as he chokes on his latest swallow, struggling to maintain composure and keep the water inside his mouth.
“Excuse–” He tries–and fails–to say between each gasp for breath. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” He says suggestively.
“Toby.” Zander’s voice is stern and sober, calling for an end to his amusement.
“What?!”
“He means taco shells,knobhead.”
“How the fuck was I supposed to know that?!” I watch their exchange, wondering what else Toby could have possibly thought I–ohhh.He leans forward, covering my entire knee with the palm of his hand and curling his fingers underneath–
“Hard,alwayshard.” There’s no discomfort with this touch, just a weird–but not unwelcome–feeling low in my stomach at his insinuation. I don’t need to look to know that my ears are burning red and my chest is covered in splotches. Not wanting to embarrass Zander in front of his work friends, I decide tonight will be the night I force myself out of my comfort zone. I’ll sit here until Zander’s shift is finished and really try to be the friend he deserves.
Turns out it wasn’t so difficult. Three hours passed pretty quickly, probably due to the bottomless drinks Zander keeps placing in front of me. He definitely knows what I like, given that I’m not one to mix my food; the distinct separation between each colour itches the satisfaction centre in my brain. They’re so pretty too, with their gradient colours, it reminds me of the sunrise, red to orange then yellow, and not to mention, fucking delightful–woops, don’t swear, Jules. It’s unbecoming.I laugh quietly to myself, realising I didn’t even say it aloud.
“What’s got you giggling?” Zander asks, smiling at my amusement.
