Only One

champagne problems

When Tony first invited me to this party, I told him I was sick and couldn't go.

This was a very poor attempt at an excuse, given that I was very clearly not sick and the party itself wouldn't be for another two weeks. If it wasn't obvious, I've never been good at lying.

It's not that I don't like parties, I love them actually. It's just that I already knew who else would be attending the party, and I was currently doing everything in my power to avoid one of those guests in particular.

That's precisely how I ended up at Tony's party, camped out at the bar. Now I know what you're thinking. The bar is probably the worst possible hiding spot at a party of over two-hundred lightly-inebriated guests. In most cases, you'd be spot on. But in my case, the man I am hiding from doesn't drink alcohol, making the bar the perfect spot to avoid seeing him. There's always been something painfully brilliant about hiding in plain sight.

I'd been stationed out here almost all night. The bar tender, George, had taken pity on me and all my misery. A little over an hour ago he had slipped me an entire bottle of champagne. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't seem to find the bottom of it. All I could find was more bubbles, more of the shimmery golden liquid acting as my date for the evening.

I would just drink straight from the bottle if I could, but that wouldnt exactly be the most inconspicuous thing to do, and I'm not trying to attract any unwanted attention. I reach forward, grabbing the champagne flute from the counter and bending over the bar to refill the glass so that nobody would really be able to see what I'm doing.

When I sit back on the stool, champagne bubbles rising to the very tip of the flute, I curse under my breath. Half-way across Tony's living room, a pair of piercing blue eyes are watching me carefully. I turn quickly, swiveling in the stool to face the bar but it's too late. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him making his way over to me, determinedly. The bar is all the way in the back corner, so there's no where left for me to run. I don't actually think I could run. Probably not in these heels at least, and definetly not with the liquid glitter coursing through my veins.

"(Y/n)." His voice calls out from my side.

I exhale, doing my best to act calm, rational, normal.

"Steve."

I turn just enough to smile in his direction, although my body is still angled towards the bar. Steve is standing at the other end of it. His elbow is propped up against the wooden counter, leaning on it slightly as he continues to stare.

"You been busy lately?" He asks, lowly.

"What?" I pick up the flute, taking a gulp I hope is not too suspiciously large. Guessing by the fact that my glass is now half empty, I think I failed miserably.

"I asked if you'd been busy lately." He repeats, eyes drifting to the champagne in my hand, then back to my face. "I haven't seen you around at all in the past few weeks."

I ignore his question by taking another sip from my glass and setting it down on the counter with a loud clink. Yes Steve. Me and my date the champagne bottle have been very busy now kindly leave so I can continue to enjoy its company.

"Did I do something to upset you?" I hear him ask in my continued silence.

"Nope." I answer, plainly.

My fingers are playing with the stem of the champagne glass, spinning it around in lazy circles. The motion makes what's left of the liquid start to fizz, bubbles rising to the top.

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?" Steve says with a smirk.

"Yep." I answer dully, still focusing my gaze on the shimmering drink in my hand.