Bar

Squeezing into a seat at the bar between a lanky soccer fan with a Guinness and an older grizzled looking guy with a whiskey I say “Pardon me” As I sneak in.

That gets me a slow appraise and nod from the older guy.

The soccer fan turns and grins at me, letting his eyes linger a while on my cleavage. Making me regret wearing the tank top, but at least he looks up after a minute and says “course” and takes a draw on his pint.

The bartender, a heavily tattooed mousy haired lady in her late twenties looks to me as she pours a drink “What’ll it be?”

“Gin & Tonic” I say. Then add “Make it a double”.

She nods and then hurries off with the beer she poured.

I look up at the game and shake my head, having never gotten into soccer.

The guy beside me seems super excited by the game though.

After a minute the lady returns with my drink and asks if I’d like something to eat.

Drowning in thought “I’ll grab some deep fried pickles” knowing that was always a safe bet.

She nods, sets a napkin down in front of me then turns to other customers.

There’s an uproar and everyone shouts, as a referee pulls out a yellow card on a player.

Taking a sip of my drink I let out

“Ah. I needed that.”

I feel a vibration in my pocket.

A sense of dread settling in my stomach.

It isn’t him, is it?