Coffee & Karma

One

Evie left me to further drown my sorrows after she had successfully gotten me drunk. I'd made a point of staying glued to my bar stool, drinking as many drinks as my new buddy, Bartender Andy, would serve. Bartender Andy also made a point of keeping me in my spot, saying I'd fall over with "so much vodka and such high heels." He had no idea how well I could walk in six inches with alcohol blurring my vision like a vignette.

An endless amount of people were walking through the brick doorway and into the thick-aired club, all following the same pattern. First to the bar to down two shots, three at most, then to the dance floor to impress others with the moves they'd practiced in the bathroom mirror.

It had been going on like this for hours, the girls in their skin-tight mini dresses acting more drunk than they were; the men more than willing to shout them drinks in the hopes they could take one of them home. It was the sad reality of the young-adult-aged population; a stereotype I had only recently been able to be categorized as.

The pattern continued as naturally as the tide coming and going, until someone decided to be different. They sat on one of the leather cushioned stools down the bar, standing out like a twenty-year-old Japanese girl sitting alone at a bar (AKA: me).

It had me frowning over my empty glass. According to my hours of observations, this man should have thrown back a shot, flirted with some girl and got on his way.

He didn't.

He sat four stools down with his tattoo-covered arms resting on the bar while he ordered a bourbon and coke. He looked a bit older than me, with dark hair and defined cheekbones; the club's multicoloured flashing lights illuminating his face for milliseconds at a time.

My drunk mind could only think about why he broke the mold, but my drunk lips didn't have to ask. The man caught me watching, his brilliant amber eyes gazing upon my pout with laughter.

"What's the matter?" His voice was masked by the deafening music, low and deep and amused.

"Why aren't you dancing?"

"Is it illegal to sit?" He countered, playful, and almost flirtatious.

"Yes."

He chuckled and stood, his half-full glass in one hand. He was tall and lean and beautiful to look at, and from the way he held himself, he had been told so by many.

He lowered himself onto the stool beside me, elbow on the bar with eyes scanning me up and down. Not that up and down could take long with my height. His eyes roamed over my skintight black dress, hints of approval, appraisal and something else I was beyond recognizing colouring his eyes. Bartender Andy leaned against the bench cleaning a glass with a rag, his eyes flicking between the two of us like he was watching two chickens play tennis with an egg.

"Well then, I apologise," the stranger said, dipping his head out of a mock respect. "But I think anyone would be stupid to pass up an opportunity to be in your presence."

My stomach fluttered, bringing life to the butterflies I thought had been killed long ago. They flapped their wings like I never thought they would again, so I leaned closer to the man to see if I could get them to stay. I remained the socially acceptable seating distance away, but close enough that I could smell his cologne. A subtle musk that turned me from friendly to flirtatious, and fed the butterflies with desire.

"I look smart," I explained without an ounce of superiority. "A lot of men find that intimidating."

"Boys," the stranger agreed.

"I'll drink to that."

I reached for my glass but it had been replaced with something other than the alcoholic drink I was expecting. It was warm and held in ceramic.