June Flash Lit #6 - The Hangover Cure

“People don’t pick people up in bars anymore,” Meg said.  “It’s all swipes and clicks.”  She set down her glass precisely, not even smearing the condensation ring that had collected under it.  “I’m going to the ladies.  Get me another one?”

Nancy nodded and swirled the ice in her gin and tonic.  Even in the semi-darkness of the bar, the light reflected and refracted on the different clear substances:  glass, liquid, ice.  She only had that kind of thought after the third drink.  Concentrating, she ordered the next round without slurring, then felt someone brush against her arm.  She swiveled toward the contact.

“Sorry,” the guy said, eyes brushing against more than her arm.  “This seat taken?”

“Nope.  My friend is sitting on my other side.”  Important to let him know that she wasn’t sitting here, tipsy, all alone.  All right:  be honest.  She was drunk.  Not so drunk that she couldn’t evaluate the situation.  He was cute enough, blond and clean-cut in a middle-management sort of way with expensive shoes and an untucked shirt that either indicated a casual nature or an incipient beer gut.  They traded the usual remarks:  one of the teams on the television was winning, he liked her hair, she sometimes sang karaoke, but not tonight.  Naturally enough, his thigh pressed against hers—it was a crowded bar, after all.

Meg came back and lifted an eyebrow at Nancy.  Nancy knew Meg was prettier than she was, thinner, fitter, and charming.  And yet this guy—Bill?  Bob?—had sat down by Nancy.  No swiping or clicking involved.  Life was funny, and got funnier the more gin she added.

She hadn’t wanted to come out tonight.  She was tired.  They’d been out the night before, too, and Nancy was still a little hungover.  “Hair of the dog,” Meg said.  “Whatever that means.”

When Bill/Bob leaned in and kissed her collarbone, Nancy decided it meant that she might as well just stay drunk.