The guitarist played with her hair, pressing the long side back and dabbing the sweat running down her face from the lights with the hem of the football kit. It exposed her abs in a way I couldn’t ignore. What was this urge? And whyher?
I’m just starstruck. There’s nothing more to it.
The band took a playful bow before packing up. Two guys dipped in to help before the women disappeared. My heart sank. I hoped that somehow, some way, I couldtalkto her.
“Yo,” Jaz laughed. “Earth to Betty. Let’s get a drink.”
“Sure,” I agreed.
It’s better this way.
Jaz and I approached the bar, and waited for the cute bartender with a cheeky grin.
He asked, “What can I get for you?”
Those dimples.
“Uh… just that hazy IPA,” I answered.
“Coming right up.” He winked.
If nothing else, the bartender eye candy hit. I stood against the bar after getting my drink. Jaz disappeared to talk with a guy on the other side. She tended to float in and out with few words. We had an understanding that on our rare nights off, we were wing-womanning. No one got to be a cockblock. We checked in if we went home with someone. We dropped a pin. No one got to complain iftheydidn’t get laid, though. Our time was precious.
As I was about to sip my beer, I spotted the guitarist making her way to the bar. Freezing, I realized she was headed formespecifically. I looked at Jaz, but got no reaction, then mildly panicked. I gazed at the woman.
Chaos ensued when she ordered the same beer as me.
The bartender said, “Sorry, we just blew the keg. I’ve got a couple other hazy IPAs in bottles.”
“No, mate. That was the one yousworeyou’d hold for me.”
“Sorry, it blew early, Mary. Here, it’s on me. I’ll grab you this thing from the States. I promise you won’t hate it.” He ducked away, then popped a beer.
Annoyed, she turned to the DJ assembling his equipment on stage.
She sipped before groaning, “Not the same. Wrong hops.”
I offered, “Look, I haven’t even sipped this yet. I think they gave me the last one of what you wanted. I’m good with almost anything.”
“Oh, no! You don’t have to do that,” Mary insisted.
“No, really. Your set was amazing. It was the least I could do.”
She blushed adorably. “What can I order you?—”
“I’ll take your beer,” I said. “Tradesies?”
“Tradesies?” She giggled. “You’re adorable, sweetheart.”
“I really don’t mind. I am not afraid of your cooties.” I held out my beer. “Unless you’re afraid of sharing?”
She arched her eyebrow. “Fine. But if you hate it, I owe you.”
She let out a satisfied “mmm” after sipping. I felt alright about the other beer.
“To be honest, I don’t know enough to know the difference.”
“Oh, sweet, summer child,” she snickered.
