Perfect Storm

37- Ian

The room was loud; the bar was packed, and my glass was empty. I looked at the bartender smiling, winking, and flirting with the group of women he was handing the drinks to and shook my head. They're way out of your league, buddy, I groaned.

To save him the embarrassment, I whistled. He continued flirting with the women, so I whistled again. This time, I got his attention, and as he started walking over to me, I pushed my empty glass towards the bar's edge. "I'll have another," I said, as dry as dust.

He turned, stepped over to the wall of booze, reached to the top shelf where the bottle of scotch I'd been drinking all night, and grabbed it. Then he turned while removing the top, and with a concerned look on his face, he annoyed me when he asked, "Are you sure you need another shot of this?"

My jaw flexed, then my brows furrowed as I said, "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't think I needed another. Triple shot me. And while you're at it, give me a shot of your best bourbon along with a tall glass of beer." I laughed. "You know, just like that one song, One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer... cause I'm getting ripped tonight."

He leaned down while resting his forearms on the bar with the bottle of scotch still in his hand. He studied my face, saying, "You're already ripped, Ian. You've been here all week. Day. And. Night. Haven't you gotten any sleep?"

"What's it to you?" I groaned.

"Where's Hannah or Arnie?"

Who the hell cares where they are? I sure as hell don't.

I lifted my empty glass. "Just pour me some more of that fine-tasting scotch. Then, go back to your flirting with the women who'll never give you their number."

Devron took the glass from my hand, filled it like I asked, then set it on the bar top. "I'll give you the scotch. I'll give you the shot of bourbon, and I will provide you with that glass of beer. But that's it because I am now cutting you off. Enjoy it while it lasts, Ian."

Pfft.

I raised my wrist, slid up the arm of my coat, and looked at the time. "Devron, it's only seven-thirty. The night is still young. I still have six more hours before the last call."

His lips curved into a broad smile. He chuckled, and then he pissed me off. "Your last call is now."

"Whatever," I moaned. "Triple shot me that bourbon, too, then."

When your heart is aching, you no longer give a shit about anything. And right now, I couldn't care less if my liver finally gave out. Because my heart, body, and soul wish only to be where the love of my life decided to go.

I have to laugh when they say that time heals all wounds because that's not true in my case. It's a fucking lie. Even if it were true, after five months, these wounds of mine would have healed by now.

I felt someone brush up against me as they sat on the barstool next to me. I was immediately irritated when the drink I had in my hand splashed into my face and over my hand. I turned my head saw a woman as pretty as a picture, extremely glamorous, and the irritation I felt quickly disappeared. "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?"

She cleared her throat, and with an evil look in her eye, she fizzled, "Not in a long time."

The corner of my lips raised. "Well then, I want you to know. You're one beautiful woman. Just like my mother."

"I am your mother, you inebriated moron."

"I may be tipsy. And I may be a moron. But I'm still smart enough to see how beautiful you are," I said, giving her a charming smile with hopes that the angry look in her eye and the scowled look on her face would fade.