Between Drinks

Marco

I take one last look at the presentation. This is it. Some people won’t be happy with this. Not at all. But I’m ready. It’s been a lot of work. I hope it’s worth it.

I gather my things. My backpack feels heavier than it should.

I don’t feel like cooking. Maybe I’ll just order in.

The office is quiet—just a clock ticking somewhere, the low churn of the dishwasher in the common room. A voice murmurs behind a closed door. The whole place feels ready to shut down—like I’ve stayed too long.

I step into the elevator, the doors starting to close, when I hear—“Hold it!” I stick out my hand and catch them.

It’s Liv. My heart jumps as she steps inside.

“Hey, Marco, thanks! Working late today?”

“Hey, Liv. I didn’t know you were still here.”

“Yeah, working late too. We’re in sync, huh?” She smiles.

“I guess,” I say, smiling back. If only that were true in more ways than one.

“Where are you off to?”

“No plans. Just heading home.”

“How about a drink then?”

“Yeah! Sure,” I blurt—too fast.

“I mean, I was kind of dreading going back to my apartment alone.”

Why did I say that? That just made it worse.

She raises her eyebrows, then smiles. “Any preference?”

“I heard The Terrace is lit.” Lit? Seriously?

She laughs. I smile too, cheeks burning.

“It’s close by,” I add quickly. “We could walk.”

“I love walking. Let’s go.”

We step outside. People move in every direction—some alone, rushing, others in small groups, laughing and talking loudly. Cars honk. A taxi driver shouts at someone I can’t see. The street’s alive—and for the first time all day, so am I.

“Tell me about your trip to France,” I say.

“It was great. I traveled all over the country. A whole month, can you believe it? It feels like a completely different place to me now.”

“How did your sister like it? It was her first time there, right?”

“She didn’t go. She had to cancel last minute—work issues—but I went anyway. My best friend lives in Paris. I stayed with her for a week, but the rest I did solo. She gave me suggestions—it was like traveling as a local.”

“I didn’t know you ended up going alone,” I say, still surprised.

“What—would you have gone with me if I’d asked?”

“Of course I would.” I’d go anywhere with her.

She smiles. “Maybe my next trip.”

My stomach flutters at the thought.

We get to The Terrace. The place is packed—music blaring, voices climbing over each other. I spot two empty seats at the bar.

“Sit at the bar?”

“Yeah.”

The bartender—a woman with a quick smile—steps toward us.

“I know what I want,” Liv says. “Tequila, with lime and salt.”

“Any particular kind?” the bartender asks.

“A good one,” she says calmly, like this is how she orders all the time.

The bartender flashes a quick approving smile, then turns to me.

“And for you?”

“The same,” I say.

Not what I’d usually drink, but how could I choose anything else?

In sync with her—all the way.

My whole body feels lighter. Like I could float.

I should slow down before I start imagining too much.

The drinks arrive.

“Cheers,” I say, clinking glasses.

“Wait,” I add. “What are we drinking to?”

“I don’t know,” she laughs. “You tell me.”

What do I say? Something cool. Don’t blow this.

“Let’s drink to your last trip being the last one you take alone.”

She gives me a look I can’t read. Did I say the wrong thing?

I backpedal. “Not that there’s anything wrong with traveling on your own. It’s great that you did. It’s just—”

“I like your toast,” she says, smiling. “It’s nice to have someone to share a trip with.”

I feel my skin tingling.

The tequila warms me all over, and for a moment it’s quiet between us. Then she asks, “So, how was everything while I was gone?”

She means work, but I don’t want to talk about work. So I tell her about a novel I’m reading—set in Slovenia. Once part of Yugoslavia, now independent—a place where you could ski in the morning, swim in the Adriatic by afternoon, and have dinner in a vineyard that night.

As I finish, she jumps in enthusiastically—rapid-fire:

“How big is it? Do you ski often? Afraid of swimming in cold water? Not in this lifetime. And dinner in a vineyard? That’s just magical.”

“I’d love to go there,” I add.

“Sounds wonderful,” she says. “We could go together, then.”

Twice now. That can’t be nothing.

“That would be great.”

A pocket of silence opens between us. I realize it’s been me doing most of the talking.

“So,” I say, searching for balance, “what have you been up to? How’s your project going?”

Immediately, a faint cloud crosses her face.

Was she expecting me to keep talking about the trip? I shouldn’t have asked that.

My mind starts racing—how to fix this, what to say next—when suddenly:

“Hey, Liv! Marco! Great to see you here!”

It’s Gavin. What the hell is he doing here?

“My date didn’t show up,” he says. “Mind if I join you?”

Liv smiles, sympathetic. “Oh, Gavin, I’m sorry about your date. Of course you can join us. Let’s get you something to drink.” She signals the bartender.

Is she happy to see him? Right now?

The bartender comes back over.

Gavin doesn’t hesitate. “A mojito, please.”

“And for you two?” she asks.

I glance at Liv.

“A mojito,” she says, without even looking at me.

The bartender turns to me.

“An IPA for me,” I say.

No way I’m joining them in their mojitos.

A few minutes later she returns—first the mojitos, then my beer.

“I picked this one for you,” she says. “It just came in. Tell me what you think.” She lingers a moment.

I take a sip. For a moment everything disappears. The beer is hoppy, fruity with notes of orange and mango.

“Wow, this is amazing. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, smiling.

She is quite beautiful, I notice.

I turn back to Liv and Gavin, forcing a smile.

“So… what happened with your date?”

“No big deal,” he says—and then he launches into a string of stories about his dating life.

The guy is fearless—doesn’t think twice about asking someone out. Rejections roll off him like rain.

He can put on a show. Liv can’t stop laughing and even the bartender grins when she catches pieces of his stories.

Suddenly something inside me drops.

I go heavy all at once, off-balance.

I find myself leaning slightly on the counter.

I’ve become a bystander in my own night.

Then Liv says, “It’s getting late. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Sure,” I manage, and signal to the bartender for the check. She brings it over quickly.

Gavin reaches for his wallet. “Let me take care of this.”

“No, of course not,” I say.

It’s my date, or at least it was.

He hands over his card; I hand over mine. The bartender looks between us. “Split?”

“OK,” I say—hoping to wrap things up quickly so I can catch a moment alone with Liv again.

Words even start to form in my head—Maybe we could do this again sometime? Or I’ll walk you home?—Just something to show her I’m still in it.

But before I can speak, Gavin says, “Hey, Liv, ride together?”

“Yeah,” she says.

“I’m close by. I’ll walk,” I add, though I don’t even know why.

Outside, the car pulls up right away. “That’s us,” Gavin says.

I wave goodbye and start walking. Behind me, Liv laughs at something Gavin said as they climb into the Uber.

I can’t believe how the night turned out. It should’ve been me. Did I imagine the whole thing?

I take a long breath, trying to pull myself together. I try to think about something else.

The presentation tomorrow. I hope it goes better than tonight.

At least there, I know what’s what.

I stop by a light. I could cross, but I don’t.

The streets have lost their earlier energy.

A few people are still out, but most of them walk alone.

I’m starving, but I can’t think of anything I want to order.

Maybe I’ll just have some cereal.

 

Gavin

The Terrace is packed. I should not have picked this place. How am I supposed to find Andrea?

I approach a couple of girls standing alone.

“Are you Andrea?” I ask.

They shake their heads.

Then a group of girls.

“Any of you Andrea?”

Another no.

“Anyone want to be?” I add, with a grin.

They laugh. No volunteers.

Right. Fine.

I check my phone.

No messages from… wait. It’s Adriana, not Andrea. Crap.

I text:

I’m at The Terrace. Where are you?

I stare at the screen. Nothing.

Shit. Focus, Gavin. Okay… breathe. What now?

And then I spot Liv and Marco at the bar.

Sitting together.

No way.

They must be bored out of their minds.

Liv is awesome and fun and sexy and Marco is… Marco.

I can totally rescue this situation.

“Liv! Marco! Hey—didn’t expect to see you two here!”

“My date bailed on me,” I say. “Mind if I join you?”

“Yes, join us!” Liv says immediately—practically relieved.

She waves the bartender over—and holy hell the bartender is gorgeous. Like… movie-star gorgeous.

“A mojito,” I say.

Liv orders one too—nice.

“So what happened?” Liv asks.

“No big deal. Part of the single life.”

I start my list. And I’ve got stories.

They laugh. Even the bartender keeps drifting over, catching bits and cracking up.

Liv especially—laughing like it feels good.

Maybe the night isn’t a lost cause.

You just have to know how to take control of the situation.

After a while Liv says, “We should call it a night.”

Marco and I both agree. He signals the bartender. She brings the check.

I reach for my wallet. “Let me take care of this—you saved my night.”

Marco insists, so fine—we’ll split. I was only trying to be nice.

As we are about to leave, I spot an opening.

“Liv, you’re still on the east side? Let’s share an Uber.”

She says yes—enthusiastically.

Hello, alone time.

The car pulls up right away.

I joke, “And here I thought I was going home alone.”

She laughs—not the way I wanted—and says, “In your dreams.”

Ouch.

I grin anyway.

The trick is to keep talking—if you stop, the thoughts come.

But Liv’s not listening. Her eyes are out the window.

We drop her off. She waves. Door shuts.

Silence.

Another night alone.

I stare out the window.

Then tell the driver:

“You know what? Take me back to The Terrace.”

The driver shrugs. The city lights blur by.

Nights don’t end until I say so.

Right?

 

Liv

I snap my laptop shut a little harder than I meant to.

I’m not doing this tonight. This freaking project—it never ends.

I grab my purse and head for the door when my phone rings. It’s my sister.

“Hey, Liv. Where are you?”

“At the office.”

“At the office? What the hell are you doing there? You should be home by now. Or better yet, on a date!”

“If there were any guys worth dating…”

“I can name a couple right now that you’d like.”

“Absolutely not. I can find my own guys.”

“Well, I’m sorry to tell you, Liv, but that doesn’t seem to be working. What about that cute guy you work with?”

“Marco?”

“You know who I’m talking about! Of course Marco.”

“I don’t know about him. I like him, but he’s hard to read.”

“Then stop reading and start flirting,” my sister says.

“You know what? Maybe I will—wait, he’s leaving right now.”

“That’s a sign! Ask him out. Go, go!”

“I’m going. Bye!”

I run toward the elevator. The doors are closing.

“Hold it!” I shout.

Marco catches them—he looks exhausted.

All the more reason to rescue him from whatever day he’s had.

“Hey, Marco—thanks!” I say, beaming. “Working late too? We’re in sync!”

He smiles back—and suddenly the air in here feels warmer.

Okay. This is happening. I am absolutely asking him out.

“What are you doing tonight?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

Perfect. “Let’s grab a drink.”

“Yes!” he says. “Better than going home alone. Let’s go to The Terrace—I heard it’s fun.”

Fast, all in one breath. He’s suddenly nervous. I love that.

“We can walk,” he adds.

“Great,” I say. “I love walking.”

We step outside. His shoulders seem to relax, his face brightens— like the fresh air reanimates him.

He asks me about my trip, and before I know it, I’m talking a mile a minute about it.

He’s surprised I did part of it alone. I’m glad I went anyway—and I love reliving it.

Then he says, “Wait, weren’t you going with your sister?”

That catches me off guard. He knew that?

I didn’t think he paid that much attention.

“She had to cancel, but I went anyway.”

Then, trying to sound casual, I say:

“If you’d known I was going alone… would you have asked to come?”

Take that, sister.

“Yes. Definitely,” he says.

Something in the way he says it makes heat rush to my face.

“I’ll let you know next time,” I say—light, playful, and absolutely not subtle.

We get to The Terrace. Busy, loud—with the right energy for tonight.

No place to sit in sight—until Marco points to the bar, where two seats wait like destiny.

“Want to sit there?”

“Perfect.”

The bartender—annoyingly pretty, with those dark blue eyes—steps over. “What can I get you?”

“Tequila, lime, salt.”

Daring. Sexy. Sure.

“What kind?” she asks.

…Oops.

“A good one,” I say, like I know what I’m talking about.

She grins. “I’ve got you.”

Marco doesn’t even hesitate. “Same.”

Oh yeah—we are very much in sync.

The drinks arrive.

He waits for me to take mine first—his eyes on me—then lifts his own.

“So… what are we drinking to?” he asks.

I fire back, “You tell me.”

He freezes for a second, then moves his glass from one hand to the other—like he’s choosing his words carefully.

“To your last trip,” he says finally, “being the last one you take alone.”

For a second, my chest tightens—that trip was everything to me.

The silence stretches.

He looks away, shifts a little—like he’s suddenly unsure.

But then I get it.

He meant for the next one to be with him.

He starts talking again when I cut in, “I like your toast.”

And now the space between us feels charged.

I want to keep things moving, so I ask, “How was everything while I was gone?”

He doesn’t mention work at all.

Instead, he talks about a book: Slovenia—his voice softening as he describes it:

Skiing in the morning.

Swimming in the sea by afternoon.

Dinner in a vineyard under a sky full of stars.

I’ve never heard him talk like this—like he’s letting me see something private.

I start firing questions—one after another—partly because I’m curious and partly because I don’t want him to stop.

He laughs and says he’d love to go someday.

“Me too,” I say.

And then—before I can stop myself—“Let’s go together.”

The excitement in my voice surprises me.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“So… how’s your project going?” he asks.

My stomach tightens. That damn project.

Why bring that up now?

Is he pulling back?

Was it too much?

I look down at the shot glasses, now empty on the counter, unsure what to say next—

“Liv! Marco! Fancy finding you here!”

Fuck.

Gavin.

The last person I wanted to see.

He’s going to think it’s a date and tell everyone at work—

“My date bailed on me,” he says. “Mind if I join you?”

Oh.

Well then.

He doesn’t think it’s a date.

“I’m so sorry, that sucks,” I say.

“Of course, join us,” I add, a little too cheerfully. “Let’s get you a drink.”

I flag down the bartender.

“A mojito,” he says.

I glance at Gavin—he is openly checking her out. Of course he is.

“And for you?” she asks me.

“A mojito too,” I say before I even realize it.

She turns to Marco.

He hesitates. The bartender gives him the tiniest shake of her head—just between them.

“An IPA,” Marco says.

“Great choice,” she says, smiling at him. “I’ll pick one for you.”

The bartender returns with our mojitos, and then with Marco’s beer.

“For you. Tell me what you think,” she says, her eyes fixed on him.

Marco takes a sip.

“It’s excellent,” he says, with that smile—my smile.

The bartender beams.

What the hell?

My breath goes shallow for a second.

Before I can spiral any further, Marco speaks:

“So… what happened with your date?”

Gavin says “no big deal,” and then launches into a whole saga of disastrous dates and miraculous recoveries. He’s very funny—too funny. I laugh, but I feel like I’m sprinting just to keep up with him.

The bartender keeps wandering back over, laughing at pieces of his stories but also making comments to Marco that I can’t catch.

And Marco…

He’s listening to Gavin.

But he’s somewhere else.

When did I lose him?

We were in sync, and now he’s miles away.

Maybe he’s tired.

Maybe I misread it.

Maybe I imagined everything.

Suddenly, I find it hard to keep laughing.

“It’s getting late,” I say. “I have an early start tomorrow.”

They both nod.

Gavin then says, “Hey, Liv, let’s share an Uber. You’re still on the east side, right?”

“Yes,” I say — just answering the east side part.

Marco clears his throat. “I’m close. I’ll walk.”

Well… that answers that.

I turn to Gavin. “Okay.”

We step outside. The car is already pulling up.

“That’s us,” Gavin says.

Marco waves—polite, distant—then turns and walks in the opposite direction.

As I’m getting into the car, Gavin jokes, “And here I thought I was going home alone.”

I laugh automatically. “In your dreams.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing.

I glance back.

Marco is already half a block away, walking slowly.

A hollow feeling opens inside me. Like I missed something. Like I let go of something I didn’t know I was holding.

Gavin keeps talking the whole ride, but his voice turns into background noise.

When I get home, I call my sister.

“Well?” she says. “How did it go?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I just… feel sad all of a sudden.”

“Liv… what happened?”

 

The Bartender

Another agent contacted me today. I can feel it—things are about to take off.

I scan the bar. It’s early still, and the place is already packed. Looks like another great night. I don’t plan to do this for much longer, but I can’t deny how much I enjoy it. Not just the mixing—also that flash of recognition when the drink is exactly right. And I like watching people, too. Talking to them. Figuring them out. Guessing what they want, what they’re afraid of, what they’re chasing tonight.

That’s when I notice the couple. They take the two empty stools at the end of the bar. She’s beautiful. He’s cute. They look good together, but… they’re not together yet.

Maybe a first date?

I move in close. If they don’t leave together tonight, it won’t be because they didn’t have enough to drink. They’ve become my mission.

“What can I get you?” I ask.

“Tequila. Lime. Salt,” she says. Great choice. That’ll get things moving.

“Any particular kind?” I ask.

She blinks—definitely not a tequila person.

“I know exactly the right one,” I say.

I’ve got her.

I glance at the guy. His eyes are fixed on her. If a man looked at me like that, I’d jump him right there and then.

“Tequila for me too,” he says.

Excellent.

I have a bottle of Siete Leguas Tequila Reposado chilling just for situations like this. Smooth, but with personality—and a bit of a bite. Chilled isn’t how you’re supposed to serve good tequila, but cold goes down easy when you’re not used to it. And yes, I keep the frosted shot glasses ready to match.

I grab the round, heavy bottle, pour two perfect shots, set up lime wedges and salt, and bring everything over.

A few minutes later, I glance back. He’s talking, and she is completely dialed into him. Oh yeah. She likes him—maybe even more than she knows.

Their shot glasses are empty. Time for round two.

I start toward them—but someone at the bar asks for a white wine. “Got you — one sec.” I fill the order fast and turn back to my mission…

And now there’s another guy at their side.

Tall. Athletic. Smug, of course.

What the hell is he doing messing with my couple?

I get over to them.

A mojito, he orders. He’s staying? What is with this guy? Can’t he see he’s intruding?

“A mojito for me too,” she says.

A mojito? What about your guy?

I turn to him. He looks blindsided—like he doesn’t know what hit him either.

“And for you?”

Please don’t order a mojito—not a mojito.

I even shake my head slightly without meaning to.

“An IPA,” he says.

Sticking with tequila would have made a stronger point, but okay. I know what to do.

I switch to my most flirtatious voice and tell him, “Let me pick the perfect one for you.”

“Thanks,” he says, distracted—hardly noticing me.

I serve the mojitos first. Then I come back with the beer.

He looks miserable now.

“Hazy IPA. King Julius,” I say. “Brewed in Massachusetts. Try it—tell me what you think.”

He closes his eyes, takes a sip. His face suddenly brightens.

He glances up at me, like he’s suddenly surprised that I’m there.

“Amazing,” he says.

Then that smile—quick, unguarded—gone almost before I find myself smiling in return.

She notices… and still turns back to Mr. God’s-Gift-to-Women.

I come back a few more times. I catch bits of the conversation. The guy is shameless. So shameless that it’s actually funny.

She laughs, but she’s not into him—not even a little.

What did I miss?

Why is she paying attention to this guy and not to her date?

From time to time, I drop comments in his direction, trying to nudge him back toward his date. But he doesn’t pick up on any of it. He’s already checked out. Maybe hurt, even.

After a while, they ask for the check. The intruder actually offers to pay. Incredible. But then my cute guy says no, and offers his card. I’m about to take it—then I think: No. He ruined their night. He should pay for some of it. So I say, “I’ll split,” and take both.

Minutes later, they leave.

I wanted to see them leave holding hands.

Still… the electricity was there. Clear as day.

It has to work for them.

Maybe just not tonight.

Would I have been just as blind if it were me?

If someone ever looks at me the way they were looking at each other, I hope I don’t miss it.

My phone buzzes. Another message from the agent.

He wants to meet tomorrow at noon.

A potential project.

Yes. I’m ready.

 

Liv

“Liv… what happened?”

I don’t answer right away. I can feel my voice will break if I do.

The apartment is dark, the only light coming from my phone screen.

My purse lies on the living-room table, where I threw it before sitting on the sofa and calling my sister.

“Everything was going really well. We were sharing tequila shots.

I even told him we should go to Slovenia together someday.”

“Nice!” my sister replies.

“Yeah, and right after that, he asks me about work. My stupid project. I mean—how’s that a reply?”

“Huh. Doesn’t sound right. So what did you do?”

“Then Gavin showed up.”

“Who the hell is Gavin?”

“Some guy from the office. You’d definitely hate him.”

“Wait—is he good-looking?”

“That he is. The office flirt.”

“Do you have his Insta? What’s his full name?”

“Focus,” I say, smiling.

She chuckles. “Okay, okay. Did you tell him to get lost?”

“No. I didn’t want him to think Marco and I were… on a date.”

“Weren’t you?”

“Maybe. I guess.”

“Keep going.”

“Then the bartender—who looked like a damn model—starts flirting with Marco. Even brings him a beer she says she picked just for him.”

“So she swapped his tequila—the one you were both drinking—for a beer she picked specially for him? That bitch. I hate her.”

Now I’m the one chuckling. “But I wasn’t drinking tequila anymore. I was having a mojito.”

“A mojito? You hate mojitos.”

“Gavin ordered one. Then I did too. It just happened.”

“I see. So did you talk to Marco after?”

“Not really. I left with Gavin. He’s on the east side too.”

“Oh my god, Liv.”

“I know.”

“So let me get this straight—you told him you wanted to travel the world together,

then freaked out, let another guy sit with you so it wouldn’t seem like a date, and left with that guy?”

“When you say it like that…”

“I’m not saying it like that. That’s literally what happened.”

“And I never said I freaked out.”

“You didn’t have to. I know you, Liv.”

Then I continue, “As I was getting in the Uber, I took one last look at him. He looked so lonely. I felt so sad. For him. For me?”

“Well, you should. He’s probably crying himself to sleep right now—adding this night to his list of past traumas. Maybe considering priesthood…”

“Stop it. I get it,” I say, trying to sound serious, but I’m smiling anyway.

We both go quiet for a moment. Through the window, I hear a siren in the distance — faint, rising, fading.

Then I say, “I messed it up, didn’t I?”

“Maybe. But hey — so did he. He could’ve said something, stopped you from leaving with Gavin, grabbed you after, anything. But you can still save it. Talk to him tomorrow—ask him out again. Maybe say how Gavin totally crashed your night.”

“He won’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“It’d be his loss. But I don’t think that’s how it’ll go. Before you know it, you’ll be laughing about tonight and choosing dates for that trip. Why Slovenia, by the way?”

I ignore the question. “Okay… I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“And, Liv—stop panicking every time things don’t go how you expect. You’ve got to give the guy a chance.”

I don’t answer. Am I really like that?

But she keeps going. “Okay, now back to this Gavin character. His Instagram?”

I pretend not to hear her. “I’ve got to get to bed,” I say. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Liv.” She hangs up.

I think about another date with Marco—maybe even talking about what happened tonight, in that calming voice of his.

A wave of excitement rises through me.

I haven’t turned on any lights, yet the apartment doesn’t feel as dark anymore.

I can’t wait.