Carolina and The Fan Non-fiction | H.S

Fifteen

I follow his hand, landing upon this tall man on the stool. The blue light from the table makes a silhouette of his face but even so, I knew immediately who he is. He was already looking at us, grinning as he took notice of me looking back.

I nod to the waiter, muttering 'okay.' He then leaves.

I look at the glass in front of me, then back at him. He's dressed different than the last time I saw him. A dark blue bomber jacket wraps around his white shirt. His smile, though, remains very familiar. It brings me back to the time I struck up a natter with him.

He sways his head, telling me to come over.

Deciding I could use his company to get out of my thirdwheel role, I stand to pick up the cocktail mix with my hand that isn't holding my phone. I glance at both Zach and Bryon who, apparently, saw the elusive exchange go down.

"Go for it, Viv," Bryon half-shouted over the music. "He looks damn fit."

Zach scrunches up his face leading her to say, "What? I'm just encouraging her."

"Alright you two, maybe I'll see you later I don't know," I stated. "Take care of my coat please."

"Sure and tell Gracie her coat's with us as well if you see her," Zach said.

I nod, turning around. I hear Bryon chime a "Be safe!" triggering an embarrassed head shake from me.

Approaching the bar, I feel his eyes etch on me in every movement I made. Even up until we're already face to face. I flash a coy smile which he returns.

"I keep seeing you in places where there's liquor," I jested.

"Then I guess it was only appropriate I said hi to you with a drink," he replied, his deep voice filling my senses. I never noted it before, but he sounds like dark coffee with just a little cream.

I sip from the martini, a fruity burn sliding down my throat. Boy does he know how to gratify someone's taste. I lay the glass down on the white counter, amused as the blue light meets the pink liquid. Taking a seat beside him, I let my arms rest on the counter as well. I look straight ahead at the bartenders, busy tending to the customers across us. Not really sure what to say.

Then it clicks. Theo is a bartender, he'd know flavors that anybody and everyday could prefer.

"I thought you'd be at Barbican during this time?" I asked.

"It's not my shift today, I'll be there tomorrow though," he answered. "Why? Do you plan to come back? It's going to be open for everyone tomorrow."

I giggled, "I don't know I think I'm waking up with a headache tomorrow."

With that, I imagine my imminent condition a few hours from now. I tend to have hangovers even without going full-on frisky while drinking. I looked into WebMD about it and surprisingly was told it was normal.

I break my thoughts and my levelled look, inspecting the rest of the club around us.

"What kind of cocktail is this?" I asked.

"That's vodka and lime juice, but don't worry I made sure it's light," he answered. I can still feel his eyes etch, this time specifically on my cheeks. His stare was obvious from the corner of my eye. With his built, I can even see him take a breath before saying, "You're not a tourist aren't you?"

I let my head drop lightly as a wheeze escapes my mouth, "No. I'm sorry for lying about that. It's just something I felt I needed to do."

"Because of Harry, right?" he asked, making my head perk at the mention of the name. After, perhaps, making out the baffle on my face he went to say, "It's alright. I knew who he was."