Page 6 of Notes About Vodka

There, my girl stands by the entrance to the main bar’s cocktail lounge. She’s shaking out a bright, hot pink umbrella adorned with multicolored tulips. Her red hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, resembling a dark waterfall as she tries to scrunch the damp strands with her fingers. Her outfit consists of a form-fitting black hoodie that fits snugly, paired with sleek black tights that accentuate her long legs. She’s also wearing black tennis shoes with the edges of hot pink socks peeking out just above the tops, adding another playful splash of color to her otherwise dark ensemble, It gives her look a quirky and approachable vibe.

Her fashion is also reminiscent of the current Moscow street style—effortlessly edgy, combining oversized layers with fitted pieces, and a mix of comfort and bold, statement-making accessories that exude both confidence and casually cool. She’s so similar to the photos my mom sends me from back home that a wave of nostalgia hits me, making my chest tighten with a bittersweet ache.

Fuck me, she’s so damn beautiful.

I can’t help but laugh loudly, catching the attention of her gorgeous, bright gray, not as much blue tonight eyes as she looks my way in confused amusement. They sparkle against her dark ensemble.

I want to kiss each one of her eyelids before I kiss lower to those red lips of hers.

I almost comment on her red lipstick, but I push thethought aside and say, “Hey,” stepping around the back of the bar with practiced ease, letting my confidence take over, “I was hoping you’d be back.”

She looks up, her gray eyes sparkle with bright blue flecks as they meet mine. There’s a flicker of confusion, her brows knitting slightly as though trying to place me. Then, recognition softens her expression as she realizes I’m just another worker here, and finally, a smile spreads across her face, warm and disarming, as if it were meant just for me.

I’m done for.That smile.

“Well, here I am,” she says, her voice as raspy and magnetic as I remember. “Are you my boss for the evening?”

I almost choke and have to clear my throat.

The way she asks if I’m her boss sends heat straight to my groin. Especially when that gaze looks me up and down, almost undressing me as she analyzes what she sees.

“No, I’m just a bartender. I’m Val,” I say, extending my hand. “Nice to officially meet you.”

She grins. “Nice name. Like Val Kilmer?” she teases, slipping her cool hand into mine. I give her hand a gentle squeeze, shaking it firmly and not letting go.

“No, it’s short for Va-lehr-rey,” I correct, enunciating all three syllables correctly, holding her gaze longer than I should. “But I’ll be your Iceman.”

She laughs—a soft, melodic sound that sends a thrill through me. “Well, Valerie,” she says each syllable slowly, deliberately, incorrectly, with a glint of mischievousness lighting up her eyes, her tone daring me to correct her. “I guess I’ll just have to be Maverick, but where is Goose?”

I laugh, loving that she picked up on my Top Gun reference. “Well, not sure where Goose is, but I’m glad you’re here tonight. Did you work earlier this week?”

"No, ‘Valerie not Kilmer’, this is my second shift.Technically, my first real one. I was an emergency call-in last time. Tony must’ve thought I was worth a second shot even though I don't think he likes the songs I want to sing.”

“That’s good. He’s tough but fair…mostly.” I pause. “And just so you know, it’s Va-lehr-REY, not Val-er-rie. Common mistake.”

Her brow lifts playfully. “You act like I’m going to mess it up again.” She shrugs. “Nothing wrong with Valerie. I knew a girl with that name growing up.” She mumbles under her breath, “Must be a Northern thing.”

I chuckle and gently stroke the back of her hand with my thumb, marveling at how such a small touch can feel so grounding. It’s as if this connection is both a question and an answer, a fragile bridge between curiosity and something far deeper I’m almost afraid to name.

She notices, our gazes locking when she looks up.

"What is?"

“Hmmm?" she asks, her hand still in mine.

"What is a Northern thing?

Her cheeks flush on cue. “You heard that?”

"Yeah. I did, so tell me," I emphasize by tickling her palm with my fingers.

She giggles, pulling her hand away.

Instantly, I feel the cold return, the warmth lingering only where her skin had touched mine.

"Just that, I'm silly, is all. And it just seems that everyone I meet here in New York doesn't have my sense of humor. Instead, everyone is just trying to correct me," she explains as she looks down at her umbrella that's dripping on the floor.

“I wouldn’t mind correcting you,” I say softly, reaching out to grab her umbrella. I take it and pull it behind the bar, “just to see you blush again. Here, this can hang out back here and dry while you work. Don't want to give Tony a reason to yell abouta few water drops. Besides," I continue now that her eyes are tracking my movements, "I’ve been wanting to meet you since I heard your audition.”

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