“It’s a crustacean.”
“If you have to dip it in that much butter to get it down, it’s fish. Trust me.”
“I take it you aren’t a sushi fan.”
“Not so much,” he said. “I’m Jack.”
“Nice to meet you, Jack. That margarita is easily the best thing that’s happened to me today.”
“Glad I could improve your day. Has it all been bad or just this latest bit?”
“My boss kept trying to feel me up, my best friend made fun of my pretend roof garden and then my boyfriend’s mistress texted during dinner to ask if it was over yet. In the interest of full disclosure here.”
“That’s a lot of information you just gave me...what was your name?”
“Britt. I’m not usually an oversharing person. I don’t even really go in for social media...all that dirty laundry. I just decided to air mine on the terrace of Tamarind instead of on Twitter.”
“You’d need way more than one hundred and forty characters to tell this story.”
“See, it’s a good thing I’m not live tweeting the breakup.”
“I think that’s a sound decision. Discretion is the better part of valor.”
“A man who knows Shakespeare and margaritas. You’re quite the discovery, Jack. Here’s my table. What’ll you have to drink? It’s my treat.”
“Whiskey sour,” he told the server. To his credit, the waiter didn’t seem in the least dismayed by the abrupt change in my dinner date.
“So what do you do, Jack, besides providing liquor to damsels in distress?”
“I’m a guitarist. Sort of an artist, too.”
“Hmm....are you in a band?”
“Isn’t everybody?”
“Not the people I know, actually. They’re primarily in accounting and marketing and the like.”
“Wild crowd you run with,” he sipped his whiskey.
“I’ve never had one of those. Mind if I try it?” she asked, starting in on her second margarita and feeling a little bold.
Jack held out the highball glass, and she snagged a cherry floating on the surface and licked the sharp whiskey flavor off the sugary cherry and bit into it, the sweet juice gushing into her mouth. Smiling, she took a drink of his whiskey sour, the blaze of alcohol scalding her throat as she swallowed. Shaking her head with a cough, she handed the glass back to him.
“Thanks anyway,” she croaked. “I’ll stick to what I know,” she drank down the rest of her margarita.
“You just made my night a lot less boring,” he said.
“That may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she laughed.
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
“So douchebag wasn’t much on the flattery I take it. I can do better than not boring though. How about beautiful?”
“I like it even if I don’t believe it much.”
“I could show you how beautiful you are, but the food isn’t even here yet. That would be presumptuous,” he grinned.