Page 28 of Lilah
It reminds me of the movieCoyote Uglyto be honest. Except without the women dancing on the bar and all.
The closer I look around, the more I see the drunken people. One guy is tripping over himself and another is leaned up against the wall with his friend holding him up.
I don't even have an ID and I'm not twenty-one, what am I trying to get away with here? I look seven years old.
Maybe they'll see the desperation in my eyes and think 'wow she must be having a hard day, let me give her some moonshine, preferably the closest thing to cherry pie or heck, even peach.'
I feel eyes on me and notice and guy staring directly at me. He's obviously drunk. He sits at the bar, a drink in his hand that is currently being poured out because he's too drunk to keep it up straight.
It doesn't help that he looks at least thirty-five.
I ignore his gaze and just walk up the closest near-empty spot on the bar. I feel my heart pound as I stop at the bar.
I've never even been in a bar and now I'm going to order things? How? What do I do? 'Hello, I'd like some cherry pie moonshine!'
'Hey bartender guy, give me some peach moonshine!"
I'm screwed.
Knowing my luck, they wouldn't even have peach or cherry pie. They'll have something like White Lightning and from what my parents said, that's the nastiest kind.
"Shout em out!" A loud voice shouts over everyone and voices flow into the bar. My eyes fall upon the bartender who works at a nearly impossible speed, all while a smile stays on his face.
His light hair flops over his forehead as he bends under the bar, retrieving a brand new bottle of goodness knows what type of alcohol.
Just as quickly as people call out drinks, he's serving them. Just looking at him makes my head hurt.
"Ya haven't said a word pretty lady; what'd you like?" he speaks loudly, his eyes darting up to mine for a split second. My heart beats even louder as I look around me at any other person but I don't think there are any other girls in my general area.
"Peach moonshine," I speak quickly, getting it over with as fast as I can. The craze around the bar simmers down and now he's only making drinks every ten or so seconds.
When I finally raise my eyes from my hands, he's looking right at me, a slightly confuzzled look on his face.
"Strong drink for such a small person," he chides and I hold back from jumping over the counter and showing him just how a 'small person' like me can break out CIA/karate moves on him.
"Cherry pie could work too," I bite my lip. I don't think cherry pie is any less strong than peach but hey, maybe it is? I don't know, I'm not a scientist.
"You have an ID?" a small smirk now rests on his face and I swear if it weren't for this tall counter, he'd wish he wasn't smirking.
Like really? Who makes a counter this tall? It's up to my chest.
I look down at my feet and notice a step right underneath the counter.Ohhh. Duh.
I step up and now it's notastall anymore.
"My ID is in my wig that I left a home," I blurt out and internally remind myself to punchmyselfin the face later.
"No ID?" he chuckles. He's pretty darn good. If he can see past my trained lying, he must've been bartending for a while now. Or he works for the CIA too.
"How old do I look?" I narrow my eyes and his face lights up with a smile. Aw, he's cute. What an anus cake.
"I'll be nice and give you eighteen," he tilts his head and I flick him off under the counter.
"Newsflash, I'm thirty-one," I deadpan.
"Damn, at first I was going to say thirty, but I decided against it," he slaps the table, and I bite the inside of my lip to keep from smiling.
"I guess I can give you something as long as you don't tell other people about my mistake," he shakes his head like he's embarrassed.
