Page 154 of Story of My Life
The big strong manly man looked like he was calculating escape routes.
“Levi, buddy. Pal. Friend. I’m not here to judge. I won’t tell anyone else either. My lips are sealed.” I made a lock-and-key gesture before throwing the invisible key into the lake.
He took a reluctant breath and a fortifying sip of beer.
Recalling my college intro to psych class, I decided to make him more comfortable by mirroring him and took a sip of my own beverage.
Warring intense flavors hit my tongue and tonsils like a swarm of fire ants.
I tried to swallow. It was a valiant effort, but my body had shifted into survival mode and the only way to survive was to expel the ghastly beverage.
I barely got a napkin to my mouth before it came spraying out.
“I’m so sorry!” I choked, nearly swallowing the saturated napkin. “This is the worst drink I’ve ever had in my life.”
Through tear-blurred eyes, I could see that people were looking our way again.
Levi shoved his beer at me, and I drank deeply.
“Not a fan of the Basskicker?” he asked.
“I would rather eat carpet tacks for breakfast every day for a week than drink another one of those. Oh, God. I think it branded my tongue.” I scrubbed it with a fresh napkin.
“You need a new drink.”
“So do you,” I said and polished off his beer. I slid the empty glass toward him and picked up my own.
He reached out, lightning fast, and gripped my wrist. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, sounding amused.
“I need to throw it out. I don’t want Francie to know I didn’t like it. I wanted to have a usual. Like be in a place that knew me and knew my usual. But this monstrosity tastes like diesel fuel,fish guts, and stomach bile.” I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep from dry heaving.
Levi took the glass from me, plucked out the plastic fish tail, and tossed the remaining contents over his shoulder. “Problem solved.” He signaled Francie.
“Ready for your next round?” she asked.
“I’ll have the same,” Levi said.
Francie’s eyes widened when she took in my splotchy, tear-stained face. “I’ll have what he’s having,” I rasped, pointing at his empty beer.
“Comin’ right up,” she promised.
I gave my throat another vigorous clearing.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked.
I felt like I had a lungful of fish guts, but other than that, I seemed to have survived. “Totally fine. Back to your writing,” I prompted.
Levi nervously ran a hand up the back of his head.
“Oh, come on. I basically just humiliated myself by spitting a drink in your face. Be a gentleman and let me change the subject,” I begged.
“How do I know if I have something worth exploring?” he asked.
“You don’t have a book deal, right?”
He shook his head.
“No looming deadline from an editor?”
