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“One more!” I cry out, slamming my empty shot glass on the counter. Turning toward me, the bartender refills my glass with tequila for what feels like the hundredth time. I’ve never been the kind of girl that gets smashed on a night out—especially on a a dive bar like this one—but tonight it had to be done.
There’s no cure for a broken heart, but tequila sure helps to dull the pain.
“You should ask the bartender to leave the bottle,” I hear someone say behind me, and I turn on my seat to meet a pair of cool green eyes. “At the rate you’re drinking, you’ll go through a whole bottle.”
“I can hold my liquor,” I tell him proudly, even though I have to do a mighty effort to keep my gaze focused on his face. Thankfully, it helps that he’s handsome: chiseled jaw, deep green eyes and short tousled blonde hair, the kind you just want to run your fingers through.
“I can see that,” he laughs, casually leaning against the counter. “You should take it easy, though.”
“I’m as sober as a judge,” I proclaim, wobbling out of my seat. “Shit,” I mutter as I lose my balance. Moving fast, the stranger holds me by my elbow, stopping me from diving head-first onto the floor.
“Judges must be drinking lots of tequila these days,” he laughs once more, the deep sound of his voice making the tequila boil in my stomach.
“I can prove it,” I insist. “I challenge you to a game of darts! Loser pays the tab.”
“Fine,” he nods, trailing after me as I head toward the corner of the bar and collect the darts from their cup.
“I won’t go easy on you,” I promise him.
The next fifteen minutes are a complete disaster: I miss every single one of my shots, and one of my darts even hits a bald guy in the back, stabbing him through his shirt and lodging on his shoulder. He looked pissed off, but immediately backed down as my friendly stranger stepped between the two of us and glared at him.
“Okay, I’ll admit it,” I tell him as I sit on the stool by the counter. “I’m slightly tipsy.”
“Just slightly, huh?”
“Yup,” I nod, and this time it isn’t a complete lie. Getting my ass handed to me over darts was a sobering experience.
“You still have to pay my tab.”
“And I’ll gladly do so,” I laugh, slapping a few bills on the counter.
“Although,” he continues, placing his hand on top of mine. “Maybe I can pay my own way, and get something else in return.”
I look at him, my tequila-brain trying to decode his words, but my body takes the lead. I lean forward, place one hand on his knee, and my eyelids drop.
Next thing I know, my lips are on his.
“What do you say we get out of here?” He whispers into my ear.
My reply couldn’t come faster.
“Lead the way.”
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I got a footlong. And it tastes so good.
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