Page 9 of Despite It All
“Possibly.” She shrugs. “Compromise? I buy yours, you buy mine?”
I should say no, but something about her is so intriguing. “Alright, deal.” I step aside to let her lead to the bar, and I can’t help the tug of a smile on my face.
I follow behind the brunette. She’s wearing blue jean cut offs with black cowboy boots and fucking fishnets. She’s petite, got to be barely over five foot, and her brown hair falls just below her shoulders. I don’t know what it is exactly, but I find her soincredibly sexy.
She hops on an open bar stool, then pats the empty one right next to her motioning for me to take that one. “Whatcha drinking?”
“Old Fashioned with bourbon, you?”
“Blegh, I’m a Jack and Coke girlie. I love a good whiskey.”
I hold back a laugh. “You know… Jack is technically a bourbon.”
She turns to face me with a snark. “No, it’s a whiskey. It says whiskey on the bottle.”
The look on her face tells me she’s ready to argue about this, and I’m dying to indulge her. “It says Tennessee whiskey, but it’s really a bourbon.”
Her mouth quirks up. “Check their website.”
“Check their website? Why? I know I’m right.”
She leans back, offended. “Um, excuse me sir, you are not.”
“Sir?” I laugh.
A way too confident smile crosses her face as she reaches in her pocket for her phone. Her thumbs tap on the screen, and then, somehow, her smile grows wider. “Here, read it and weep.” She hands over her phone with an article from the Jack Daniels website pulled up. The title of the article says in giant letters “It’s Not Bourbon. It’s Jack.”
I laugh. “You’ve had this argument before, haven’t you?”
“Yes, and I can tell you now this is a hill I will die on,” she says as she pulls her phone back.
“You know it meets all the qualifications to be considered a bourbon,” I say, egging her on.
I can see the spark igniting in her eyes. “But it… you know what? I’m not arguing with you.”
The bartender comes up before I can poke at her some more. “What can I get you guys?”
With no hesitations, she says lightly, “He’ll have an Old Fashioned with Jack Daniels.”
Oh, okay. “And she’ll have a Woodford with Coke.” She bites her lip as if she’s trying to stop a smartass comment.
“Coming right up. Y’all want to start a tab?” the bartender asks with so much hesitation. I know it’s about to hurt this bartender’s soul to make these drinks, but it’s too fun not to.
I slide my card to the guy. “Yes, please.”
He takes my card and walks off with a nod. I turn toward my mystery girl. Everything about her is intriguing. Her voice, her smile… and suddenly, I don’t mind being out anymore. Well, until the DJ comes back and announces that karaoke is opening back up in five minutes.
“Ugh, fucking karaoke. It shouldn’t be a thing.”
Her head whips to me. “You don’t like karaoke?”
“Listening to random drunk people slur along to ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ isn’t what I’d qualify as entertaining.”
The bartender returns my card and drops off our drinks.
She picks up her glass and takes a sip. “I’m curious, are you like, a serial killer? Or maybe the Grinch in disguise?”
I maintain my laugh while I take a drink. “The Grinch didn’t like Christmas, not karaoke.”
