Free The Two-Night One-Night Stand by Ryan Ringbloom Page A

sausage fest. My foot taps nervously underneath my stool. Jesus Christ… the name of this bar is Crossed Swords.
    It’s official, there is no one out there more clueless than I am.
    Jeremy grabs his coat from the hook under the bar. “I should go. And please let me pay for my drinks.” Again, he reaches for his wallet.
    “You don’t have to go. This was my fault. Things like this usually are.” I motion for him to sit back down and he does. “I can see how this must have looked.”
    “So, you’re just looking for…?” He leaves the sentence open for me to fill in.
    “A friend. Unfortunately, I don’t have many. I guess you were right before when you called me a loner.”
    “More drinks?” The bartender reappears, leaning forward on the bar in between us. His arms are tan and jacked. I quickly avert my eyes to avoid any further misunderstandings.
    Jeremy starts to shake his head no. He slips into his coat. If I let it end like this, there’ll be nothing but awkwardness between us. I can’t have that, nor do I want it. I like Jeremy. “Yes, I’ll take another beer. And he’ll have another cider?” Jeremy stops, surprised by my response. His face breaks into a grin and he nods, sitting back down. “And two more shots. But make mine a whisky this time,” I add in quickly. Apparently the lemon shot is some type of signal I want to avoid. Mental note, so is singing along to One Direction.
    “You’re not mad?” Jeremy hangs his coat back on the hook.
    “Not at all. It was just a misunderstanding.” I’m just sorry that it took him kissing me for me to realize.
    The bartender slides over our shots, Jeremy lifts his and I raise mine up too. “Friends.”
    “Friends,” I repeat with a clink into his glass.
    “You won’t mention this little mix-up to anyone at work?” he asks before downing the lemony booze.
    I lift up my whisky, drunkenness already beginning to creep its way in. “I can guar-an-tee you that I will not be sharing this story at work.”
    Or anywhere else for that matter.

 

     
    MY VISION IS completely blurred as I watch three Jaynes stagger in a zigzag line into her apartment building. We hit a total of four bars tonight and did a minimum of two shots at each one, so that means like at least… eleven, or maybe thirteen?
    Who the fuck knows? I’m hammered.
    I drank Tyler right out of my system. And if any thoughts of him return tomorrow, well, then that’s tomorrow’s problem.
    My stomach gives a sloshy rumble.
    “Uber guy. Can we stop at Mickey D’s?”
    “No, it’s too far out of the way,” he says, slowing down at a traffic light.
    Bummer. I’m starving.
    “Uber guy, what about pizza? Romeo’s is around here. Can you drop me off there?”
    “My name is Dave.”
    “Sorry.” I giggle at my rudeness. “So, um, Uber Dave, can you drop me off at Romeo’s?”
    “That’s one block over. I’ll drop you off, but I’m not waiting. If you need a ride after that, you use the app and call for someone else.”
    I search through my purse, looking for some money to bribe him with. A few extra bucks might convince him to wait. My wallet is empty, but I do find a crumpled up ten at the bottom of my bag. Enough for two slices and a drink, but not enough for a bribe. “Fine, drop me off.” Now that I have pizza on my inebriated brain, I must have it. At least I can thank God for the no-cash Uber policy. But too bad for Uber Dave, it looks like he won’t be getting a tip.
    “I’m gonna get extra cheese or extra mushrooms,” I announce to a man who couldn’t give two fucks. “Or maybe I’ll just have an extra slice with extra cheese and extra mushrooms. What do you think?” Regardless of whether he gives a fuck or not, my drunken ass wants his opinion.
    “Yeah, mushrooms and cheese. Fantastic. Have a good night.” The car’s parked and he wants me out.
    Snow has started to coat the streets, probably why Uber Dave won’t wait. An ounce of worry sneaks its way in.