Jennie
I'm on her side. For now. And since I don't plan on knowing her longer than this bar interaction, I'll take advantage of having her in my favour.
"Oh-damn. Your drink." I point to the bar. "Let me buy you another one... it's the least I can do."
"You don't have to..." she starts to say, but I've already flagged down the bartender, who already looks irritated by me.
"Can I get this life saviour a drink...?" I ask. "On my tab."
My stranger relents with a half laugh. "Club soda and lime, please."
As the bartender gets her a new glass, I examine my partner in crime. I can safely say that she has a nice face to look at. A nose so straight you could ski off it. A generous mouth curled with a hint of smile. Strong, confident eyebrows, underneath which lie these intensely dark eyes.
I'm possessed with a strange urge to run my fingers through her black hair, which is teased into wavy ripples. She looks like she spent hours making herself look just the right amount of rolled-out-of-bed. It works. She somehow looks simultaneously business-meeting-ready and recently fucked.
She is not my type, too obviously wealthy with the steely control of a heart surgeon, whereas I tend to go for the wild, and pretty ones, capable of satisfying my Prince Charming fetish. Still, despite myself, one look at her goes straight between my legs, and I feel my thighs clench.
When she gets her drink, she clinks it against mine. "Cheers." She extends her hand. "I'm Lisa."
I take her hand. I expect it to be soft, but it's rough. Callouses on her palms. Scars underneath that prim and proper suit.
I shake her hand. "Jennie."
"So, Jennie..." she starts, "... can I ask?"
"I don't know, can you?"
"I'm going to. Am I supposed to know you?"
I sigh and twist my glass into the bar. "Not exactly. Did you ever get teased as a kid?"
She nods thoughtfully. "My mum cut my bangs in seventh grade. My classmates called me Bangless-Lis for the rest of the year."
"Firstly, that's terrible. Kids are mean."
She shrugs. "I lived."
"Secondly, imagine that, but instead of your middle school, you lose your bangs in front of the whole world. And instead of a bad nickname for the rest of the school year, you get a bad nickname for the rest of your life."
"I feel like this is leading somewhere." she says.
I take a generous swallow from my glass. The wine tastes acidic, but I feel like I need it to tell this story. I don't owe this stranger my story. I don't owe her anything. But something about her deep eyes draw me in and make me feel comfortable here, so I take in a deep breath and spill.
"So this time last year... I had the worst day of my life. My fiancé had just dumped me and... I was going through a lot. So I got drunk at a wedding... very drunk... and had a minor meltdown."
"Minor?"
"Okay, so major meltdown. Objected in the middle of the ceremony. Threw up on the father of the bride. Karate-chopped the wedding cake."
The corner of her mouth twitches.
"You're laughing at me." I accuse.
"I'm laughing with you."
"I'm not laughing!"
"I'm just... confused... how exactly do you karate-chop a wedding cake?"
"You'll have to watch the video to find out."
"Ah, so there's a video."
I breath out an exhausted sigh. "Yes. There's a video. Evidence of my very public and embarrassing meltdown was uploaded to YouTube and it went viral. A million likes and counting." I shrug. "So, that's my story. I let a boy make me literally crazy. And now the world knows me as 'Bride Attack Girl'."
Her eyes are watching me, sizing me up. "Huh... they are the worst, aren't they?"
"Amen."
"So are weddings."
I knit my eyebrows. "What's wrong with weddings?"
She shrugs. "It's an archaic institution created to buy and sell women and strip them of their free will. Hallmark peddles the love bug like heroin, just to sell overpriced greeting cards and merchandise. It's a bloody scam."
She is exceptionally bitter, her tone gritty and caustic, and she has my interest, suddenly. There's something real underneath that cocky smile.
My guess? She's like me. She's been burned by love. Only while I'm doing everything in my power to dust myself off and get back on my feet, she'd prefer to retreat into her loneliness, entirely à la the Phantom of the Opera.
"Let me guess..." I say incredulously, "... not a fan of Santa either?"
"That and throw in the fact that The Tooth Fairy is a total bitch too."
"Some of us happen to love and respect the magical creatures of this world, thank you very much."
I've earned a small grin from her. "You're not so bad, Bride Attack Girl." she comments.
I tilt my head. "You're not so bad either, Bangless-Lis."
Her eyes meet mine. They're magnetic; her gaze is simultaneously warm and hard, quiet and controlled, and far too similar to the yellowed gaze of a hungry wolf lying in wait. "Well, you've only just started to get to know me."
"How much worse does it get?"
"How much time do you have?"
I curl my hand under my chin. "All night."
A smile touches the edge of her mouth. "Is that a promise?"
I bite my lip.
