Page 7 of Organized Chaos
"Nineties all the way." Maya made a sweeping hand motion.
"Nineties was the last decade to produce good music. I feel like an old man who is always screaming:what are you damn kids listening to, you call that music?"
"Ugh! I know what you mean. Everyone only listens to House nowadays."
"Right!" I threw up both of my arms.
"It's not music!" we declared in unison, then froze.
College students were supposed to loathe nineties music. Generally, twenty-one-year-olds preferred Electronic or Trance. But Maya didn’t fit the mold because she was her own genre.
I watched her, somewhere between enthralled and suspicious about the too-good-to-be-true personality.
The unashamed gawking turned her coy, and she nervously sipped on her drink. My eyes inadvertently landed on her mouth as a droplet lingered behind. Without meaning to do so, I reached out to wipe it off with the pad of my thumb.
I audibly exhaled at the slight contact, the inexplicable sound drowned out by the noise surrounding us. Electricity shot through my system as if waking me up for the first time in my life.
Maya followed my thumb with her pupils.
She feels it too.
“One more drink?” I murmured when she polished off the remnants.
“Umm—” She looked down at the empty glass unsurely before hitting the lock screen of her phone to check the time.
She didn’t have the chance to answer as the bartender decided on her behalf. "Last call!"
“Last call? It’s not even midnight,” I argued.
Maya sighed. “That’s alright. I should get going anyways. I’m actually Cinderella, and my chariot is about to turn into a pumpkin.”
Unamused by her lousy joke, I grudgingly handed my card to the bartender, waving Maya off when she reached into her purse. Perhaps it was for the best if I resumed the original plans I put in place for the evening—drink myself into oblivion in my room.
“Stay for one more drink,” I uttered idiotically instead of saying goodnight.
"I don’t think anywhere else is serving alcohol at this hour."
We weren't in New York, and this particular area in Nice wasn't vibrant after midnight. Even the hotel nightclub closed at 1:00 a.m.
Pathetic.
Oh well. I needn’t do anything other than part ways with this girl. Time to send her packing. "Do you want to come back to my room for a drink?"
Maya blinked, processing my request.
I never invited girls back to my place during work events.Ever.
This night had clearly short-circuited my brain. That’s the only reason I was making such callous suggestions.
"As you mentioned, there isn’t anywhere else we can get a drink,” I pressed. “And I’m not ready to call it a night."
She glanced at her phone again. "Sure, I can stay for one more drink."
Masking the unexpected relief, I circled the bar to retrieve my card from the bartender, feeling impatient as Maya had implied a time constraint. The girl I met earlier in the night, Farah, walked up to the bar simultaneously. She grazed my arm in her effort to place a signed copy of her receipt on the counter. "Hello again, Brandon."
"Hello, Farah."
"I hope you aren't calling it a night already?"
