Page 22 of Here for a Good Time
“You look fancy,” I say as I pull him in for a hug.
“I saw the tissues with the red lipstick in the bin,” he tells me. I don’t mean to smell him, but I inhale while we’re mid-embrace, and his cologne smells so good that I almost let out a smallMmmm(almost, but I don’t). “I knew I couldn’t show up looking like a slob while you look like—” He steps back, works his jaw with one hand while gesturing at me with the other. I blush, a fizzing sensation inciting in my stomach. “—this. You look… incredible.”
“Don’t get used to it, I packed one nice outfit and five pairs of ripped denim shorts.”
“You look incredible in ripped denim shorts, too,” he says, and I’m blushing again. “Although the state of some of those shorts really begs the question of when something goes from ‘intentionallyripped’ to ‘piece of denim vaguely strung together by various pieces of thread,’” he adds.
He laughs when I strike his hand with the menu. “It’sfashion,okay?” I argue.
“I don’t get why you won’t let me sew them,” he says with a shake of his head. He’s been on this particular crusade for a while now. “That one pair doesn’t even have a hem! It’s just a tangle of white threads! I can’t believe brands are getting away with charging the exact amount for afullpair of shorts while using a third of the fabric.”
“You know that at this point, I’m stopping you from sewing them more out of principle than anything. I will not let a man police what I wear.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m going to make an honest woman out of you yet.”
“What are you implying?” I throw my hands in the air. “Can’t a girl wear shorts that have half her ass hanging out without being called a ‘whore’ anymore?” I exclaim.
“Good evening!” I don’t know how long our server has been nearby, but I wish he’d made his presence knownbeforeI’d proudly declared myself a whore. By the look on Zwe’s face, he absolutely saw the staff approaching us from behind my back. I shoot him a death glare, and he widens his grin. “My name’s Brandon. Can I start you off with some drinks?” Brandon asks.
“I’ll have another of this yuzu drink,” I say, gesturing at my empty glass.
“And I’ll have a beer,” Zwe says. “Bartender’s choice.”
“Of course, I’ll be back with both of those. And please let me know if you have any questions about the food.”
“Zwe Aung Win,” I say, cocking a suspicious brow. “When was the last time you drank on a weekday?” Zwe barely even drinkson weekends because he’s almost always the one opening up the bookstore.
“Probably when I was in my early twenties?” He laughs, like he can’t believe it. “You’re going to have to keep an eye on me tonight. Make sure I don’t do something stupid.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
He bites his bottom lip as though to stop himself from answering. “You tell me,” he says.
“Like… ask Leila to join you for a drink? I don’t think that’d be stupid, for the record.” Zwe gives a half hearted chuckle at that.
Brandon returns with our drinks. “Are you sureyoudon’t want to ask out Leila?” Zwe asks as we clink our glasses.
“A writer’s block–inspired awakening of my sexuality?” I shrug. “I suppose I’ve had costlier crises. But alas, no. Still just into good dick, I’m afraid. I only brought up Leila because I saw you two out there earlier. You looked like you were having a good time.”
“We were. I was.” There’s a pause where I don’t know if I’m supposed to respond with something. “How was the spa?” he asks.
I shake out both of my arms. “Amazing. I’m as loose as a noodle. Nary a knot to be found inthisbody,” I say, and gesture dramatically at myself.
Zwe smirks, his eyes following where my hands are directing him, down my neck and shoulders, right to my chest. His gaze briefly lingers, and it’s enough to stop time, even if only for a second.
I cough and gesture down at the menu, shaking both of us out of whatever sunset-induced daze this place keeps pulling us into. “Do you know what you want?”
Zwe murmurs a “Yes,” and like last night, I could almost swear I feel him still staring at me. And just like last night, somethingstops me from checking, instead locking my gaze onto the piece of paper in my hands.
Leila stops by as we’re halfway through our second round of drinks. “How was your meal? I heard you got the salmon and steak? Those would’ve been my recommendations, too. They were both flown in fresh from Japan just this morning.”
I do a double take, certain I must be drunk and misheard her. “Did you say you imported the salmon and beef from Japan? Today? But it’s just us here—” I swivel my head around, having to check. “Right? Did a new party check in?”
“Nope, still just you two,” Leila says, gliding past the first question like it doesn’t even warrant addressing.
“It was a great meal,” Zwe says. “Easily top five across my lifetime.”
“Do you want another round?” Leila gestures at our empty glasses.
