Page 7 of Not Until Her

She’s attractive. Blonde hair in a messy bun, tattoos covering her arms, shoulders, and chest. She’s probably out of my league. Probably straight, even though I mentally slap myself for making the assumption. I hate when it’s done to me.

“We’ll do a Pepsi and a Sierra Mist please.”

“I’ve got Coke and Sprite,” she offers. My heart sinks.

“Sprite is fine for me,” Vic quickly responds. When she looks to me, there’s concern on her face. I am a picky, particular person. Iwould choose not to be if I could, because I hate this feeling right here. Like a normal person would decide on a different drink, but I can’t be normal.

“Nothing for me then, thanks.” I try not to sound disappointed.

A small frown forms on the woman’s face, before she turns to look at the other customers sitting at her bar. None of them are looking her way, needing her attention. Instead of turning back towards us, or to grab Vic’s drink, she ducks down and out of sight.

We share a confused look.

When she appears again, standing, there’s a can in her hand. One of those mini ones that isn’t ever enough to curb the craving.

But I don’t care, I am so happy to see it. There’s practically a heavenly, glowing light illuminating it before me.

“I keep these hidden for a regular of mine, but I can spare one or two.” She cracks it open, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. I watch as she pours it into a glass filled with ice.

I must have been so transfixed by the miracle she performed for me, that I didn’t realize she’d already poured Vic’s as well, until she was placing both drinks in front of us.

“You’re my hero,” I tell her. I’m in awe.

“Do you guys have mozzarella sticks?” Vic asks.

My stomach growls at the last two words. I haven’t eaten enough as it is today, but there’s something about the dim lighting of a crowded bar that makes fried food sound so much better than it actually is.

“We do. Just one order? Comes with six.”

“Probably two, just to be on the safe side.”

Okay, so maybe we aren’t the easiest customers, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

I give Vic a high-five, ecstatic that we’re on the same page. Neither of us need to eat that much cheese and bread in one sitting, but life is all about the small things that bring you joy, right? Eating all six mozzarella sticks will bring me joy, despite the inevitable tummy ache.

The woman behind Vic taps her shoulder, and it’s obvious when she turns around that they also know each other from their class.

Andthe woman on the other side, apparently. The three of them get caught up in what looks to be a very exciting conversation. I wouldn’t know for sure, I can’t hear it over the sudden sound of another terrible singer on the stage.

I watch their performance for a beat, but I’m just not entertained by sober karaoke. They either try way too hard, or they’re too reserved. Either way, not fun.

Given the amount of women here that can’t consume any alcoholic beverages tonight, I think I’m in for a lot of it.

I glance at the bartender again to find her expression probably matches my own. I don’t know how I’d last, having to listen to this every week.

I say as much the next time she’s close enough to hear me.

“It’s not always so bad. The drunk ones are usually pretty entertaining.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Are you going to get up there and give us a song, pinky?”

Oh, no.

I loathe that nickname, but I manage not to cringe.

“It’s Reya,” I put my hand out for her to shake and she does just that. “And maybe, but it won’t be nearly as fun considering–” I point to the Pepsi.

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