Fake the Date

The Deal

At this point, I'm not sure how much I drank. What I do know is that my sight is blurry and I feel off balance. I swear they need to get new chairs. I think the legs are broken. The bartender who had first served me had left halfway through my drinking fest and some hot blonde with breasts as large as bowling balls had replaced him. I wonder what her secret is. Strawberry milk? I heard somewhere that it helps with a woman's cup size.

It's such a shame though, it was nice talking to him. I probably wasn't making a practical conversation but still, at least I wasn't talking to myself. And he listened.

Taking the glass that sat in front of me I sip it down, some of the cool liquid rolls off my tongue and down the corners of my mouth, spilling onto my neck.

"Yo! Lady! Give me some more!" I yell, slamming the empty glass on the marble counter.

"Don't you think you've had enough? You're completely wasted," she remarks in some sort of accent. Russian, I think.

"Don't you want my money?" I spit back. She rolls her eyes but decides to make me another drink anyway. By now the bar has started filling up, and the loud party music is starting to give me a headache.

"Yo, can somebody shut the music off?" I yell to no one in particular. I just know I want it off. "Yo!" I yell again expecting a response. When no one replies and the music doesn't get any lower, I shove my fingers in my ears in hopes of that helping. It did, a little.

"You know, maybe you shouldn't drink so much," an unfamiliar voice speaks up. I expect it to be the bartender lady trying to tell me to lay off again. I'm about ready to bitch slap someone but when I lift my head it's not a hot blonde woman, but a hot brunette man that stands in front of me. I have to keep myself from drooling. His face is nicely tanned. He has a sharp jaw which gives him a more masculine appearance and hazel eyes. And don't even get me started on his body. Nice, toned muscles ripple through his tight suit. And his ears, as clear as they sky and as rigid as a board, spark a sense of longing in me. They're the most beautiful ears I've ever seen. I almost slur the words, you're extremely sexy, but fortunately, the alcohol hasn't completely set in so I can keep my mouth shut. Instead, I rip my hands away from my ears and spit back a rude remark.

"Well, maybe you should mind your own business!"

"Ooh, feisty aren't we?" he laughs as he slides into the seat next to me. He was so graceful and elegant, like a gazelle. I like gazelles. They're really cute.

"Only when I'm in bad mood," I retort.

"I suspect you must be feisty all the time then," he smiles. My jaw drops, and before I can find the words to spit back another insult, he's turned his attention to the bartender in front of us. "Hey, can I get two beers for me and my friend here?"

"I'm not your friend," I grumble, but I say it too low so I don't think anyone hears me. I also, however, don't turn down his offer because there is no way in hell that I'm about to turn down a free drink.

"Sure, no problem," the bartender says, throwing him a wink and bending down to the point where her boobs are actually hanging out her shirt while she waits for the money.

"So, what's got you drinking so much on this fine night?" he asks me after giving Bartender Whore the money. "Did you go through a breakup? Get fired? Find out you only have 3 months to live?" Something he says just causes this pang to flood my chest. My vision begins to blur as I try to hold back the acidic tears trying to penetrate my eyes. "Wait, you don't really have cancer, do you? Because I was just joking."

"I don't want to talk about it," I tell him, and then the beer arrives. I notice under . . . whatever his face's glass, is a slip of paper which looks to contain digits on it. Wow, she is persistent. He takes a sip from the glass before placing it right back on the paper, as if he hadn't seen it.