“I told the barman to pour me another. He looked at Georgette, who shrugged, then poured. I tossed that one back just as quick as the last one.
“Look,” said Georgette, “Getting drunk doesn’t solve anything here.”
“On the contrary,” I said, being contrary, “It solves me being sober.”
“So you hit on him and he walked away. It’s not like that’s never happened before. And when I say hit on that was like a mortar round being fired more than anything else..”
“Yes, but I didn’t mean to hit on him. I mean, I did, but I didn’t. I really like him.”
“Oh, I think it’s safe to say at this point we’re aware that you like him,” said Georgette before sipping on her cocktail.
“Like really, really like,” I said.
She furrowed her eyebrows. “What, are you thirteen now?”
I told the barman to pour again. He didn’t even look to Georgette this time.
“Maybe. I feel like I’m thirteen. All hot and wet down below and not knowing what to do about it”. If the barman was listening in, he wasn’t showing it.
‘It seems you had a different childhood from me. Also, you’re very drunk.”
“I should go and speak to him about this, right now.”