“Okay,so,” Ian says, leaning against the bar next to Ben, “what’s the play,here? Like, hypothetically speaking, yousee someone you’re into out there, are you gonna want me to wingwoman you? Or disappear like the discreet and politehuman I am?”
Ben lookshorrified, and his hand drops to Ian’s arm, closing around it. "No, don’t leaveme,“ he says. His eyes dartnervously around the bar as he takes a large gulp of his drink. "I can’t even remember the last time Iflirted with anyone. I’ve probablyforgotten how to do it.”
“Please,”Ian says. She sips on her soda. "You flirt with me all the time.“
"That’sdifferent,” Ben says, and Ian knows he doesn’t mean it to sting, but itdoes, a little. "I mean flirtingwith intent.“
"Iknow,” Ian replies. "You’ll dofine.“
Bengroans. "This was a mistake,”he says. "I thought getting out ofthe house would be good, get my mind off things, but…"
“It is good,” Ian reassures him. She pats his hand, still clinging to herarm. "Just…maybe…" shecarefully removes his fingers, glancing around, “try not to look too muchlike you’re already here on a date.”
Ben grins,already softer and easier than anything she’s seen from him in weeks. "Right,“ he agrees, and pulls hishand away, but not before patting her again lightly as he does. "Thanks.”
“Here tohelp!” Ian says brightly.
Ben relaxes byincrements as time passes, the bar filling up around them until it’s pleasantlyhumming with people, and Ian keeps waiting for his eyes to start drifting tothe other people, maybe to turn and start chatting with the pretty lady next tohim, but instead he’s entirely wrapped up in their conversation, even as heflags down another drink, and another. His words get louder, his hands more animated, and before long, he andIan are both laughing uproariously, Ben leaning carelessly against Ian’s side.
Ben fallsquiet as they catch their breath, swirling the last of the beer in his bottlecontemplatively, and when he looks up at Ian again, there’s this soft smile onhis face. "I needed this,“ hesays. "Like, I had no idea how muchI needed this.”
Ian doesn’trealize until the words are out of her mouth that, “Me too,” but onceshe says them, she realizes how true it is, how long it’s been since she’s seenBen this genuinely, uncomplicatedly happy.
He beams ather, and instead of spending too much time considering the way that makes hercatch her breath, she turns for the bartender and flags them down.
“I thinkmy friend could use another,” she says, and Ben laughs next to her.
“Tryingto get me all liquored up, here?” he asks.
She grins athim. "That was the point of allthis, right?“ she asks, and he looks mildly startled, like he’d completelyforgotten there was a point to this at all.
"Oh,”he says, “right,” and turns his unreasonably charming smile on thebartender. "Thanks!“
He drinksmore, and they talk more, and laugh more, and time rolls on, and Ben flirtswith no one (except for his hand landing on Ian’s thigh as he makes a point,his arm slinging across the back of her chair, darting smiles at her when hethinks her attention’s elsewhere), until he’s yawning, his beer sitting almostabandoned in front of him, and Ian reaches out to ruffle his hairaffectionately.
"I thinkour mission might have been a failure,” she says.
“What?”He sits upright, trying to look alert, but betraying himself by droopingsideways toward Ian.
“I don’tknow, Ben,” Ian says. "I’mpretty sure you can’t find love when you’re this smashed.“
"I’m notsmashed,” he objects, trying to sound offended but ending up somewhere inthe vicinity of kind of pitiful instead. “I’m just…” He yawnsagain. "Maybe kinda tired.“
"Maybe,”Ian agrees. She settles up their bill,taking the wad of cash Ben shoves into her hand, and keeps a hand against hisside as she leads him out of the bar towards her car. He pauses on the street halfway there, andshe turns to him, concerned. “You’re not going to puke, are you? If you are, do it now before you’re in my car.”
He laughs,shaking his head. "I’m not gonnapuke,“ he assures her. "Just. What if I did?”
He looks soearnest that she’s kind of disappointed that she has no idea what he’s talkingabout. "What if you did what? Puke?“ She shrugs. "It’d suck, butwe’d deal.”
“No.” Ben looksvaguely disgusted for a moment before switching back to earnest. "What if I did find love when I wassmashed? And I didn’t mean to? And it was…" he rubs a hand across hisface. "I mean, what if it was a badidea, but I did it anyway?“
"Well.” Ian swallows. “I mean,” she says carefully, “maybe it would be the kindof thing you’d want to think about when you were sober before you – ”
“Ian.” Ben interrupts her, his hands going to herface, warm and soft, and she can’t help closing her eyes, knowing where this isgoing, knowing that she should stop him, but not wanting to. "I want…" she waits for him to kissher, messy and drunk and the kind of thing that he’s going to regret in themorning, but instead, all he does is continue. “I want to do this again.”
She opens hereyes. "What?“
"Forreal,” he says. "Next time, Iwant to do this with you, notpretending to want to pick up someone else, okay? And I won’t get – “ he pulls a hand backto gesture at himself. "Just…this was…good. This was amazing. This was the best date I’ve ever been on, andI didn’t mean for it to be a date, but it was, and –”
Ian laughs,reaching up to press her hand over his. “Okay. Yeah. Ben, sure. Ask me again when you’re sober, and sure, we’ll do this again.”
“Forreal?” he asks, his eyes intent on her, and she nods.
“Forreal.”
He lets hergo, steps back, nodding in satisfaction. “Okay. Good.” He yawns again. “I think now, though –”
“You needto be put to bed like immediately,” Ian agrees. "And you won’t remember any of this inthe morning.“
"I will,” he protests.
“Mmhm,okay, babe,” she agrees vaguely, and settles her arm around him as shesteers him back toward her car.
They singalong quietly to the radio on the drive home, and she waves to him as hedisappears into his building, wanting to commit this moment and this version ofhim to memory, knowing she’s probably never going to see it again.
She wakes inthe morning to a text, fumbling beside her bed for her phone, squinting in thelight as she reads it.
Youcalled me babe, it says. She’s still trying to figure out how to respond when her phone beepsagain. I remember,and I want to do it again.
She’s alreadytyping out yes also why are you awake and not a hungover mess when the third message arrives.
Friday? Same time, same place. Less pretense. Probably less beer.
In,she replies simply, and feels her cheeks heat up when he sends just a heartin response.
