My Brain is Jackin'

Lemon Crush

After downing her first lemon drop, he would send her over a drink, but she would refuse it. She would then send him over an old fashioned with a shot of cinnamon whisky and two cherries, light ice. He would accept the drink, but it wasn't for him. The deep amber of the liquor always reminded her of his eyes as they would gleam brightly against the incandescent bar lights. The last step was for her to remove her bag from the seat, signaling for him to come and sit with her. But as he sat watching her, she didn't remove her bag. Their dance had ended. But it seemed the routine had changed, or maybe a new one had begun.

Taking her second shot, she began to worry; he hadn't made it over to her yet. By this time, they usually had already been on their third conversation of the evening, but here she sat alone. Turning around once more in her seat, she strained not to stare into his corner. Trying unsuccessfully to convince herself, she only cared about the drink she had ordered that was now at his table and like him not with her. Without a beat, she saw his figure shift into the light. 'Fuck, he had caught her staring.' But he smiled softly, and she couldn't help but reflect it back to him, making sure he knew he had been missed.

Smoothing his dark jacket, he picked up her glass. Watching him stand she had to dampen the excitement she was sure beamed all over her face. His suits were impeccable. This one in black allowed him to blend into those darkened spaces he tried to hide behind. The red pinstripes so finely lined all the seams matching up expertly. His shirt was always unbuttoned maybe a button or two too far exposing the soft trail of hair on his chest and she wondered how far it went down.

"You always send this over. You know I don't drink this shit." He smiled, handing her the drink as she took it from him greedily.

"That's because this drink is mine. Besides, it always looks so pretty as you bring it over to me." Her taunting tone had always got his attention in more ways than one, he loved that sound.

"You ever gonna let me buy you a drink?" He leaned into her, taking in as much of her sweet perfume as he could.

Not noticing his closeness, she spun around in her seat to meet his gaze. His lips nearly ghosted hers. "No, because then you'll want something." Again, that taunting tone of hers sent a shiver down the nape of his neck.

"But you got me a drink." He tried to reason with her, fingers tapping on the stem of his glass.

"Yes, because I want something." She began to fiddle with the straw in her drink, her eyes refusing to meet his.

"Really?" Deeply he purred, leaning into her again.

"Yes. I want you to finally sit your ass down and come have a drink with me." She looked up at him giving an exasperated huff, waiting for him and her drink to finally join her. The ice had already begun to melt, watering down the alcohol it contained.

"Well, I would have been over sooner, but you forgot to move your bag."

Looking at the seat next to her, he was right. She had forgotten that last step, he hadn't forgotten, she had. At that moment she hated her purse, she had hated herself for making him wait... for making her wait. "I'm so sorry. Come on and get your fizzy Kool-Aid before it gets too much warmer. I can order you another one if you want."

"Oh, so now you'll want something else from me."

"Maybe." She smiled.

Picking up her bag he took the space it once occupied and started rifling through. "You're already two shots in?" He questioned. 'It had always been just one, why did tonight, of all nights, have to be different?'

"It's been a really tough week, Prince. Give me a break." She whined.

"Nia, it's Tuesday."

"I know." She said exhausted, resting her head on his shoulder. "Hey get your fingers outta there." She playfully slapped his hand away from her drink.