A Girl's Night Out/“Getting hammered sounds good to me.”
From Create Your Own Story
“Now here’s a girl after my own heart.” She puts her hand to her chin. “Let’s see… All right, let’s try that.”
Without giving any indication of what exactly you’ll be trying, she turns and gets going with a few bottles and a shaker. You tap your fingers on the counter, eagerly awaiting whatever exotic concoction she’s decided to make.
“Don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
Craning your neck, you see a woman in a biker jacket standing behind you. Her loose t-shirt and jeans hide it, but you can tell just from the curves of her shoulders that she’s got a powerful build.
“You haven’t,” you reply, turning in your seat and leaning your elbow on the counter so you can face her. “This is my first time here. Or in any bar.”
“You’re doin’ pretty well for a first time,” She takes the seat next to yours. “You even knew how to order.”
“Uh, well…” you glance back at the bartender, who works quickly and efficiently. “Actually, I let the bartender decide for me.”
The woman’s fiery brown eyes widen. “You let Layla pick your drink?”
Wow, those eyes are intense. Just looking into them makes your stomach do backflips. “What’s wrong with that?”
She folds her arms, the leather of her jacket rubbing together. “Nah, nothin’ wrong with it. Just, uh…”
Bending over in her seat, she whispers. “She’s kind of a horndog. Especially when it comes to younger women.”
Her warm breath prickles your ear, and your face gets hot. “Oh. Well, thanks for warning me.”
Layla returns right then with your drink, setting it down neatly in front of you. “Enjoy. It’s sweet, don’t worry. Kind of like lemonade.”
Your new companion smirks. “Lemonade with vodka. You tryin’a get her smashed?”
“She said she wanted to get drunk,” Layla counters, hands on her hips. “The customer is always right. And as for you, Jay…” She places another shot on the counter. “Don’t you get too handsy yourself.”
The bartender leaves to attend to other customers. Your companion laughs. “That woman, I swear. She’s got eyes and ears in the back of her head. Heard everything we said. Or guessed.”
You stare down at your shot; pale yellow liquid in a frosted shot glass, garnished with a small slice of lemon. It really does look just like lemonade.
Beside you, the woman scoops up her own glass, layered with yellow on the bottom and brown on top. You aren’t sure what it could be, but the layered effect is appealing. These shots are like little works of art.
She grins. “You ready? Just knock it back.”
Nodding, you pick up your own glass. She counts it down by bobbing her head, and you go for it. The sweetness and tartness of the drink spreads across your tongue, the vodka leaving a bit of fire in its wake.
“Ah…” the biker woman lowers her shot glass and grins. “I’ll never get enough’a those.” She points to your empty glass. “How was it?”
“Good,” you answer, mouth and brain still reeling from the concentrated alcohol.
“Layla was actually pretty nice to you,” she admits, twirling the glass on its base. “There’s not even a full ounce of liquor in that. Course, now you probably want another one, right?”
