|
By: Calliope
“Love? Or lust? Love? Or lust? Love? Lust…love…” One ice cube after another went from the first glass into the second. It was just a game to pass the time, like the daisies she’d played with back in grade school. With a sigh, she began to repeat the silent mantra in her head. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. Of course, she knew the answer to that one. Maybe. Kind of. At any rate, she was the one having problems with her feelings. Hence the ice cubes, and the glasses, and the weird looks that the bartender kept shooting in her direction. “Lust…love…” The guy behind the bar frowned at her. “Lady, you want another drink or something?” “Or something,” she muttered. “I’m not done yet.” Still have some ice cubes left… One strawberry daiquiri, followed by one rum and coke. She was far from drunk. She wanted to be drunk. Of course, she needed an answer to her question first. She got the idea that, once the final verdict arrived, she was REALLY going to want to be drunk. “Love…lust…love…lust…” It was the moment of truth. The last ice cube in the glass… “It’s gonna be love. Shit.” “You know, maybe it’s just me, but those two words aren’t usually supposed to go so close together…” She left the ice cube alone and arched an irritated eyebrow at the bartender. “I’ll take that drink now, thanks.” He sighed heavily, taking the hint. “What’ll it be?” For a moment, she pondered ordering a dainty drink. She wondered what it would be like to order the sweet, fruity, brightly colored drinks that all of her friends seemed to drown in. Perhaps it was time to be more feminine… “Scotch. On the rocks.” There was always next time. Besides, she’d never been a girly girl. She’d spent her childhood hurling G.I. Joes into “trenches” (shoe boxes) so they could bomb the Barbie plantation. Of course, once she grew out of the G.I. Joe phase, she’d taken to treating guys with the same no-nonsense attitude. Somehow, she knew that that was what had attracted him to her in the first place. She had an attitude to match that of many of the men she knew, and her ability to hold her own was more than impressive. Unfortunately for her, so were his eyes. And that had been her downfall. He wasn’t the toughest guy in the bar, but he was definitely the most intriguing. The most good-looking, maybe the best dancer. She’d been drunk, so she hadn’t exactly been the best judge. On her end, at least, it had started out as lust. She could recognize that much. Her attraction to him in the beginning had been purely physical, and had grown once she realized that he was equally good for conversation. As time went on, he’d just become a balance for her. She teased, he teased. She yelled, he yelled. She drank, he drank. To any observer, they were the perfect match, the best of friends. To them, however, there was always the sexual tension. They’d been able to deal with it, but it was always there. They had just made a mutual, unspoken agreement not to mention it. He broke the rule. She growled at the thought and waved the bartender over again. He didn’t like her much more than she liked him, but she wasn’t drunk enough yet to remind herself just what her supposed friend had done to their unspoken rule. Because he hadn’t just broken it. He’d torched it. Smashed it. Killed it. She raised a glass to mourn the death of the rule. Rules were better, she’d decided. When you had rules, you didn’t have to worry about doing stupid things and learning stupid lessons. She knew she was about to learn a really stupid lesson. She knew it. With a heavy sigh, she stared back at the last ice cube, slowly melting in front of her. Maybe, if it melted before she dropped it into the second glass, it wouldn’t count, and everything could end with lust. No one would know. It would be like cheating, only not. Divine intervention, maybe. She shook her head. She’d know, and that would be enough. She closed her eyes and reached into the first glass, picking up the ice cube long enough to stare at it. Her fingers were burning from the cold, but she was too busy thinking about his eyes to notice. She shook her head and dropped the ice cube into the glass with its relatives. “Love.” A number of expletives ran through her head, but she refrained from speaking them aloud in order to maintain some of her female dignity. Instead, she glanced back at the bartender. She was definitely going to need another drink.
Part
Five: Reasonable Doubt
|