He ordered two glasses of champagne.
Unfortunately for me, I was too polite to tell him I was more of a vodka or whisky gal.
So, instead I looked him in the eyes while our glasses clinked, it’s good luck you know, and took a sip while retaining this eye contact, trying not to scrunch up my face in disgust. How people drink this stuff for the joy of it, I have no idea. I wanted nothing more that to concentrate solely on him.
His eyes,
his words,
the thought of what was hiding under that suit of his.
Instead, I was plagued with thoughts of the tart, vile drink in hand. I dreaded taking another sip, but to not would be rude. I hoped he’d leave to the restroom so I could tip it into the sink behind the bar. But when he turned down my request for him to go to the restroom, and his glass was past half empty, I thought of an easy way to finish mine.
Down it in one.
Skull it.
Block my nose and get it over with.
So that’s just what I did. He seemed unimpressed when he got up and left. Was I not classy enough for him? Or did I down my drink too slowly? Either way, my drink was gone and I could finally concentrate on enjoying myself.
Two whiskey on the rocks please.
Stevie Mark 