Meet Cute

the time at the bar

"Are you drunk already?"

"No!" She pauses, giggling. "I've just had a few pre-drinks drinks, that's all."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. Brynn giggles some more as she holds out a bottle of God-knows-what towards him. He's far too anxious to be doing any pre-drinking; tonight he's using his fake ID for the first time. Brynn's girlfriend (yes, they're back together. Again.) specialises in them, so he can now go to the local bar, claiming he's a nineteen year old guy named Peter McDonnell. He thought it was pointless, considering he's eighteen in less than four months, but Brynn insisted.

They walk round the block together to the bar, which is a beacon of light against the dark night. Arthur swears under his breath at the sight of a bouncer at the door.

"Chill," Brynn says.

She waltzes to the bouncer, who glances for a split second at her ID then steps aside for her to pass.

Arthur wipes his sweaty palms on the sides of his skinny jeans then hands over his ID. Oh, he's so lame. The man, who is about four times as wide as Arthur, looks at it then passes it back.

"Have a good night, Peter," he says. Arthur senses some doubt in his voice, so he snatches the ID and scurries inside.

It's busy and loud with sound of chatter and music. Brynn takes Arthur's hand and drags him towards a small table where he recognises her girlfriend, Taylor.

"I'll get us some drinks," he tells them.

But it falls on deaf ears, as Brynn and Taylor are currently comitting an extreme public display of affection by kissing passionately.

He coughs awkwardly and, when they don't respond, heads to the bar.

♡

Arabella looks hot.

She knows that her little black dress hugs her figure in all the right places; her smokey makeup exentuates her dark eyes; her blood red lips automatically draw anyone's attention to them. Not to mention the fact her five inch heels make her feel slightly less tiny, even if her feet are already aching and the night has only just begun.

She hands the bouncer her fake ID with ease - compared to Arthur this is practically second nature to her. He gives it back, eyes glued to her chest.

"Gross," Arabella mutters, just audible.

She knew that she'd get attention in her current get up, but she'd hoped it wouldn't be from men who look at least double her age.

Rebecca grins when she sees Arabella and leaps up from the high stool at the edge of the bar. She pulls her into a quick embrace then gestures to the seat beside her.

"Joe's just getting a round of shots," she explains. "Tonight is going to be awesome!"

Arabella smiles and nods, slipping onto the stool. She drums her fingers against the bar to the beat of the pounding base that pulses from the overhead speakers. Joe returns a minute later, looking a little tipsy already.

"Arabella!" he exclaims in a drawl as his eyes skim down her body. "Lookin' fine!"

At this Rebecca fake scowls until Joe snakes his arms round her waist and begins drunkenly swaying to the music with her. They're both laughing, caught up in their own little world, and Arabella looks away. With couples as in love as those two, watching them feels like an intrusion.

On the bar in front of her are the three shot glasses containing a clear liquid. When it becomes clear the other two aren't available to drink them with her, she picks up one and sniffs it tentatively. Whatever kind of alcohol Joe's got them, it's strong.