The Golden Boys

Chapter 29

I allowed myself a brief second to admire Chris Cornell standing in my doorway before inviting him inside.

"These are for you," he said, holding up the bouquet. "Fresh from Pike's Place."

Smiling, I took the roses from him and smelled them, closing my eyes. They were indeed from the market; extremely fresh and fragrant.

"Oh they're beautiful. Thank you!"
I set them on the counter carefully then dug around in my cabinets for something to put them in.

"Your place looks really nice," Chris commented, stepping into the living room. "Last time I was here I think you were about to paint."

"Oh that's right. It came out pretty good!"

Good thing I'd tidied up, I thought to myself as I filled a glass vase with water and set the roses in.
I carried them to my small kitchen table and placed them in the center of it.

"Well... are you ready to go?" I asked.

"I'm ready if you are," Chris said.

So off we went.

I can't exactly describe what I was feeling as I rode shotgun with Chris in his 1985 black camaro... But it was fun to say the least. I looked out of the darkly tinted windows at the city- which was teeming with life- as it always is at night time.
As we cruised downtown, passerby's on the sidewalks stopped to watch us go by. The car was definitely worthy of admiration, but if only they could see the driver...

"So," Chris said as we rolled up to a red light. "Our reservation isn't till eight- I was thinking we could stop off at the bar for some drinks first."

"Sure. I could go for a drink."

Keeping one hand casually on the wheel, he glanced over at me and smirked.
The light changed to green and we continued deeper into the city before suddenly pulling off to the right. The glowing neon sign on the building read The Bar. Chris parallel parked smoothly against the curb. 

As we walked inside, the place was busy but not overwhelmingly so. Chris motioned for me to follow him to the end of the long bar where there three or four open spots.

The bartender took a rag and wiped down the area in front of Chris and I, then draped it over his shoulder and looked at us expectantly. "What'll it be?"

Chris ordered first. "I'll take an Old Fashioned."

"Scotch or rye whiskey?" The bartender asked.

"Whiskey."

The bartender nodded and turned to me. "Miss?"

"Dry martini, please."

"Coming right up." And he turned around to prepare the drinks.

"No margarita, tonight?" Chris asked me, his expression amused.

"Why would I get that?" I asked, swiveling on my stool to face him.

"If I recall correctly, that was your drink of choice that night at the party in Tacoma. Before you seduced me into going upstairs." He was fighting a smile now.

"Actually that's not a correct recollection," I said indifferently, although my cheeks were flushing.

"It wasn't a margarita?" He gave me an innocent look.

I narrowed my eyes. "You're right about the drink, but I don't think I was the seducer in that situation."

Now Chris turned toward me- our knees were touching.