Looks Red, Tastes Blue
The smell of cheap liquor and the sounds of pool table balls hitting each other filled the air of the 21st Amendment. It was the only place she could get a beer without having to brush off every other guy who tried to buy her a drink.
Eleanor took a seat at the bar and ordered a scotch on the rocks. The tender passed the beverage over and she finished it without hesitation. The warm buzz tickled her body all over. Ordering her second drink, Eleanor eyed the bar. Same old story. Man flirting with woman, a couple sneaking off to the bathroom, and while the bar was packed there still were many lonely souls.
A deep exhale escaped Scarlett painted lips as she got off her seat with drink in hand. She squeezed between two bodies besides feeling her foot get caught under the barstool leg.
Fuck. She muttered. With enough force she pulled her leg out of its trap and fell forward. But her body slammed into another’s spilling her drink all over the other.
Another fuck.
“I’m so sorry. So so sorry.” Without thinking she reached back over to the bar and grabbed a few napkins. “Fuck. Here.” Eleanor’s hand patted the man’s shirt; there was something familiar with this touch. Something so intimate but almost done before. But maybe it was the fact she hadn’t had a good lay since her time abroad.
“I think seltzer water should–” Her cerulean eyes caught between a pair of whiskey colored orbs. Her breath caught in her throat; like a picture perfect moment from her past. “– get it off.”
“James?” She asked, as though looking for him to deny his own identity. “What are you... When did you? How...?” Maybe she was looking for answers to describe the ringing in her ears or the banging in her chest.
“Hi.” Eleanor finally settled on. “I just got off a thirty hour shift so please let me know that you’re real and not some manifestation that I might be going crazy.”
@jamesxblackwell