"Another!" said the blonde as she slammed the glass onto the countertop with a loud thud, her lips smacking with great delight.

There was a moment of silence. She looked up, confused as to why the shot hadn't magically refilled itself within the span of that measly microsecond, and was dismayed to find me peering down at her with a reprimanding frown.

"I'm not that drunk," she protested with a telling sway.

"Oh, certainly not," I snorted as I picked up her glass and placed it inside the sink, counting off the number of drinks she'd managed to hustle out of me with her wicked wiles… and fell one finger short of reaching a double digit. The drunken tetch. How dare she make me feel so irresponsible.

It was a wonder she was even awake.

"Really, really, really, 'Leeny," she tried to say with a winning smile, except her r's were slurring and her eyes were half-lidded. I tried not to cringe at her mutilation of my name. "Really, really. Drunk? Me? I am not."

I snorted again. "Nope. I'm calling it. You're done."

"Aw, come on," she pestered, eyes going wide as she tried to convince me with charm. Unfortunately, I'd lived long enough with the girl to develop a bit of a threshold and I wasn't budging. Credit is due, however, to the valiant effort she gave. The sober one would have given me great guilt, but even this drunken mess of a display had the potential to make a lesser human go weak in the knees.

I was not a lesser human.

Wisely, I filled up a glass of water and sprinkled in some crushed flitterwing leaves for the dreaded morning after—experience dictated I was to do anything I could to minimize the inevitable whinging.

I purposefully placed the glass in front of Gina and she eyed me with disdain. "Killjoy," she muttered.

"Bottoms up, you nutjob."

"Good god, fine," Gina glowered, picking up the glass and gulping it down with exaggerated repulsion. "You're such a twat, Eileen. Who went an' made you mum anyway? It's not like I don' have reason."

"You're too pissed to Apparate," I observed with great perception as I began to walk off, wiping my hands over my jeans. "Sit in the corner and wait a mo', I'll see if I can find someone to drop you home."

"I'd like to have a Jeremy, please," she said primly, though the effect was a bit compromised with the slurring. "He is nice."

"Sure, sure," I rolled my eyes and stood on my tippy toes in search of the handsome server, and zeroed in on the table in the corner, with the young party-partiers that came out on the night before September 1st to rebel against their parents. With a small tap on the leather band on my wrist, I grinned as he flinched with the sudden buzz.

He turned around and gave me a long-suffering look. "You summoned?" he called out as he nodded at his customers—the young women with the swooning smiles who paused in their appreciation to give me an annoyed glare that I unceremoniously ignored—before walking over, his clunky leather boots thudding against the hardwood floor. His black work-shirt was wrinkled and his brown eyes glinted in the warm light. This man, objectively, was a cutie.

I resisted the urge to pinch a cheek. "I did."

"Yes, well, tell me what to do then." he said patiently as he reached into his pocket for a bunch of order slips. I gave in to the urge to pinch a cheek and he gave me another long-suffering look.

My hand apologetically retreated from his cheek and then took the order slips. The other one pointed at Gina. As Jeremy turned, I snuck an appreciative peek at his arse before scoffing at the slips, which depicted a pronounced lack of adventure.

His eyebrows furrowed at the blonde's dismal state. "Whoa, is she okay?"

I set about making the first round of woefully diluted Firewhiskies—table six was having too much of a hoot and did not need further encouragement—and looked back at the girl. Gina had gone from let's-party-party-so-hard-we-can-barely-remember-anything-the-day-after to tragic-internal-screaming with surprising volatility, and was currently staring at her empty water glass with a gloomy scowl. "Well," I said in reflection of my observations. "No."

"Thank you," Jeremy said dryly. "For your enlightening words."

"Oh, anytime," I said. "Can you take her home? She's a travel hazard on her own."

"Sure, sure," he agreed, as he made his way over to Gina. "She tell you what got her so down?"

I sighed and scratched my elbow. "No, she just slumped in sometime ago and started guzzling it. I've no idea what for, she refused to say." I gave him an imploring look. "I'd take her myself but I can't leave the bar unmanned—"

"No, that's not a problem," he pish-poshed. "Dogwood Avenue, right? Don't sweat it, 'Leen, I'll be back in a few for the orders." And with that, he began to gently coax her to her feet again. I felt my lips twitch into a fond smile as Gina laid her head on his shoulder, him struggling to grab her cloak as he held her up at the same time. Ah, these cuties. I loved them. Somehow, he managed to steer her toward the Apparition point and within the next second, they disappeared with a loud 'crack'.

Quickly finishing up the orders, I considered the mess that was my best friend. I was burning with both curiosity and righteous indignation about whoever had thrown her to this horrific state, but figured I could weasel it out of her in the morning, when she was awake and irritable and a lot more readable. Tomorrow was proving to be something to really look forward to. Yay.

"Two Whistling Waters and a Firewhisky, sweets," Lianne suddenly appeared, her frizzy brown curls spilling over her eyes as she began to unload an entire tray of empty goblets. I grinned at her affectionately—the thirty-year-old woman had always been one of my favorite waitresses.

Swiftly spelling three goblets clean, I began to pour and mix. "Busy night?" I asked her conversationally as she sat down for a bit of respite.

"Oh, hardly, hon', I just haven't slept in a while—" Her hands rose to tug the wayward curls back into place, and her lips pulled up into a tired smile. "I'm trying to finish the book by this week, you know."

"Oh yes," I recalled. Lianne Richards, soon-to-be household name in the realm of children's fiction and fantasy. "The kid that keeps accidentally finding himself inside his bedtime stories, right? Finally decide on a title?"

Her smile died immediately. "Don't remind me." I will take that as a no.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Thanks, babe," she grinned as I set the drinks down on her tray, and was gone as quick as she came.

Whew.

Finally getting a quiet moment, I leaned my elbows against the countertop and looked around at the little pub, just to generally see how things were going.

As most lazy Tuesdays went, the Odd Waffling was taking it easy this evening. A comfortable crowd of kickbackers was lounging about the pub, enjoying a nice drink after work with the menu's dinner special. Floating orbs cast the space with this nice yellow light and the jukebox was thankfully in a good mood, because Timothy Spellman's Siren Call was setting the vibe, which always put me in a cracking mood.

I sighed, humming along with the chorus, and then jumped at the buzz on my wrist. With a quick move, my hand seized the order slip that had popped into existence above my fingertips—thanks Aggie—and I squinted at the handwriting. Three Dwarf's Ales and two Firewhiskies—gag me. I sighed and set about preparing the tray, crying inwardly because everyone was so boring—before an ear perked. A bar stool had scraped against the hardwood flooring some ways down the countertop.

A squatter!

My lips pulled up into a welcoming smile as I finished the order and began to turn around. "So what are we having, then—James Potter?"

Whaaaat.

Oh, no. No way.

Potter?

Like, Potter Potter?

What was he doing here?

Okay, I'll admit, I was staring and I probably looked very stupid.

He was just sitting there, rumpled hair and pretty eyes and all, and I immediately felt a bit of a flutter within my tummy when confronted with this attractive specimen after so long, which I resented. Say what you will about the guy (and believe me, I was capable of saying quite a bit), his parents certainly threw him a genetic party on that particular front. Then again, with people like Harry and Ginny Potter for parents, anybody would pop out looking at least half-attractive.

(Both Albus and Lily Potter could be offered as supplementary evidence to justify these claims.)

He still used to be a little shit, though.

My smile had long since turned into a frown as I regarded the twat in front of me with a disbelieving gaze. His clothing was ruffled, and a five 'o' clock shadow accentuated his admittedly strong jawline in a way that made him look like he'd walked off the pages of Witch Weekly magazine—god, these pretty people. My utterance of his name had interrupted an apparently fascinating perusal of his long, calloused fingers (mother of Merlin), and he slowly looked up to lock onto my eyes.

His eyebrows furrowed and his jaw unhinged. A moment of silence. At this point, I recovered from my own stupid gaping to become exasperated about his. "Eileen Watts?" he said, tone tinged with disbelief, and I resisted the urge to clap in congratulations, staunchly stifling my hypocrisy. Now Eileen, I told myself as my shoulders rose and fell in a sarcastic shrug. We aren't seventeen anymore. "S'my name," I said instead as I placed the last Dwarf's Ale onto the awaiting tray. His eyebrows rose.

Well? I waited impatiently as he stared at me with incredulity littered all across his damnable features. He sure was taking a while to react to this. I'm surprised too, bud, but come on. Really?

Then again, he wasn't a bartender. If that were the case, he would have been well used to bizarr-o things happening to him on an everyday basis, as I had very quickly understood. Potter coming to the Odd Waffling was tame compared to other things.

Like Minerva McGonagall walking in and absentmindedly declaring that I mixed a mean drink and should therefore learn to expect her much more often, lord knows she needed a couple to counter the pain she suffered courtesy all those 'twittering fools' that passed for the student population… never mind the fact that I used to be one. Minerva certainly knew how to let her hair down when she got her hands on some good quality booze. Who would have thought?

I suddenly realized how distracted I'd become and brought myself back to this befuddling confrontation. Potter was still gaping at me like an idiot, which made me feel more hypocritical as I quirked an unimpressed eyebrow. After a few more seconds of observing his expression, however, I was faced with another realization. He had transcended the gaping. My jaw dropped.

He was checking me out.

His eyes were scanning me slowly from head to foot and whoa, talk about a change in convention—Potter had never checked me out before, and it was a weird feeling. I was familiar with obnoxious eye-rolls and unimpressed toots from him, sure, but this? No way.

Unsure of whether I ought to be flattered or offended, I settled for neither and decided instead to look everywhere but at his face, suddenly incredibly hyperaware about every single thing that happened around me. There was a crack in the ceiling, I observed—need to get that fixed—and the jukebox had transcended from playing Timothy Spellman to some unhappy ballad by Celestina Warbeck—obviously, someone had gone and offended the temperamental little clunker. God, did nobody ever read the warning signs?

In the back of my mind, I also began to feel very conscious about what I'd decided to wear today, which only consisted of my baggy boyfriend jeans, old leather boots and a grey T shirt. My hair had been thrown into a messy bun to keep it out of my eyes and the little foundation I'd applied had probably started to look a little sticky, which made me inwardly grimace. I really wasn't looking my best and whoa, hadn't I noticed a pimple on the side of my nose on my bathroom break earlier this evening? Holy shit, this really wasn't good, and…

…and honestly, why did this matter, this was Potter, I didn't give two squats about what Potter thought, now really, Eileen.

My lips instantly pursed as I remembered that I was an empowered young woman, and all my silly woman-insecurities were pushed to the side. A glance to my right reminded me of all those drinks that had yet to be served and I tapped my wand on the wristband to notify Aggie that the orders were ready.

It was rather cool, actually—the wristbands, I mean. A modification of the Protean Charm with a runic permutation that allowed for a variety of simple communications—one of my first very fiddlings as a Hogwarts graduate. Everyone on staff was required to wear one while on the job. I was very proud of it.

Potter still wasn't saying anything, which was odd. Back in school, you couldn't shut him up. My eyebrows furrowed and I opened my mouth to say something but was interrupted by a warm voice.

"Eileen," said Aggie Lowell as she walked up to me, her lips pulled up into a tiny smile. Her eyes flitted towards Potter and I saw her blue eyes widen with recognition, which was usual in the Potter routine. Thankfully she didn't start squealing, which would have made me want to smack her. She looked back at me, eyes wide. "You've got the order?"

"Mhm." I ignored her stupefied expression and pointed at the three waiting trays. People were probably getting antsy for their drinks… what was taking Jeremy so long? I looked around to check on the tables and realized that they were all too smashed to notice. Okay, maybe not.

She pulled out her wand and levitated the trays. A belated glance around the pub reminded me of table ten and the hoot they were having—table four was starting to frown. I tugged at Aggie's sleeve. "Keep an eye on table ten, will you? Give them popcorn, they need a bit of calming down."

(The popcorn only went to the rowdiest of folks. It was actually garnished with valerian sprig, an ingredient often used in the making of Sleeping potions. Just enough to get them a bit droopy-eyed and sludgy, great for some nice, non-confrontational herding.)

"Gotcha." She began to walk away, giving Potter one last sidelong glance before tossing me an approving wink. I rolled my eyes.

Potter was still gaping, which made me give him a considering glance. How strange. I'd never been faced with a reaction like this. Perhaps he got stupider with time.

Then again, having sudden confrontations with one's casual schoolyard nemesis after five years of non-interaction wasn't exactly on the everyday menu—maybe gaping for extended periods of time was the usual reaction, you never know.

It was mildly discomfiting to have spent more than five minutes in his acquaintance and not have shouted even once, though—what was a girl to do in such a situation, I wondered.

His mouth moved soundlessly.

Okay, man, I'll make the awkward first move. Forcing my lips to form a pleasant smile, I slipped right into warm-and-welcoming bartender mode. "So what'll you have then?" I asked him as I grabbed a jigger. "A Bloodcurrant Rum? Asphodel Extract? Or maybe some of that good old Firewhiskey? The last one's a bit boring if you ask me, but your call."

"You work here," he said finally.

Wow, Potter, take full marks. I resisted the urge to offer him a gold star.

"What gave me away?" I said dryly as I picked up the shaker and started making him a Bloodcurrant Rum, which happened to be one of my favorite red wine and rum infusions (with a magical twist).

"I haven't ordered yet," he told me amusedly, and I was relieved to observe that he was capable of an emotion other than incredulity, thank the heavens.

"You were taking too long," I told him as I carried on regardless. With great attention to detail, I topped the drink off with a sprig of fresh mint and a hint of crushed Puffapod before setting it down in front of him with a purposeful thud.

Potter stared at his drink with a hint of apprehension. I gave him an unimpressed look. "Potter, have a little faith." Of course it hadn't been poisoned.

I'd lose my...well, my status as a law-abiding member of society. Plus my job.

Potter still looked cautious. A frown began to form on my forehead. With another glance at my pinching face, he picked up his glass and took a sip.

"Wow," he said, and he sounded genuinely surprised. I felt conflicted—one side of me wanted to do a cartwheel because I made good drinks, while the other side wanted to punch him for doubting my skills. Then he decided to continue. "I'm not dead."

"Potter…" I felt my eyebrow twitching, and I wondered what had happened to all that patience I'd gathered up during all those years of bartending—he hadn't even said anything that offensive and it was already like I was back in Seventh Year, turning red in the face and shooting insults at him with a few hexes thrown in for emphasis because he'd done something incredibly embarrassing and stupid (as was usual).

"I'm kidding!" he held up his palms but he looked a little mischievous. He looked like he was slowly getting used to this strange situation... yes, wonderful. "It's great, really—what's it called?"

"Bloodcurrant Rum," I told him crisply. "It's actually one of my favorites. Thank you, though," I added a little reluctantly. "I appreciate it."

There was a small pause. I took a moment to observe Potter as he did the same to me. Finally, the silence got the better of me and I made an indistinguishable noise.

Potter laughed. It was a nice laugh. I almost slapped myself but then told myself to hold it together, you idiot, and then got irate with myself for insulting myself, and then thanked god this exchange wasn't occurring out loud, because who wanted to look like an unintentional schizophrenic. At last, he decided to respond. "So how come you're…" Unable to quite articulate, he waved a hand in extensive description of our location.

It looked a little demeaning. My eyes instantly narrowed.

"No, no," he backtracked nervously as soon as he caught sight of my fierce look. "It's really cool, I swear!" he paused, looking a bit helpless. "I just thought—I mean, it's just surprising. I always had you pegged for a Ministry job back in school considering you were such a—er, it just looked like something you'd do, is all. You know what I'm talking about." He cut himself off and closed his eyes, looking very appalled with how badly he'd handled that piece of stupid, and waited for me to explode.

What a mess. I suddenly felt this strange urge to laugh.

I really had simmered down from my time at school.

"I did work in the Ministry after I graduated," I finally said reluctantly, inwardly smirking when his eyes shot open in complete astonishment. "It didn't work out as I thought it would, so I quit." Potter was staring at me like he hadn't ever known me before, and I felt strangely pleased to have defied his expectations. Feeling generous, I decided to elaborate. "My aunt owns this place and she gave me the job to help pay the rent—the fact that it ended up suiting me is just a very welcome bonus." My lips twitched into a small smile. "I do suppose I'm different from how you remember me."

Potter snorted at the understatement, looking perplexed and relieved. Like he didn't know what to think of me anymore. I brushed the hair out of my face and finally grinned. "No need to bother asking about you, anyway." I said, my eyes teasing. "You're all over the papers, aren't you? Star Chaser of the Arrows and all."

"Yeah," he said, looking a bit pink at my words. Potter being modest? What a peculiar experience. "That's not entirely true, you know—just the Prophet, they like to make it much bigger than it is, considering my family and all…"

I furrowed my brows. Was I imagining things or was that sincerity? "Potter," I said, a bit astonished at this emotionally questionable version of James Potter—the only kind I'd seen was the cheeky, stupid, arrogantly flirty one… whoa, emotionally questionable Potter was kinda endearing.

I coughed. "The Prophet might be a bunch of simpering morons but they're a countrywide news source, you know." I faltered, but then did something stupid. I continued. "They do need to possess at least a semblance of truth in what they say, no matter how much they exaggerate."

Well. Way to sound like a dissertation. Hey, remember that time when I used to be a stuck-up prune of a Head Girl? Who cared that Potter had self-esteem issues anyway? He was a grown man. He could handle it without me acting like a twat.

There was a small pause. I didn't want to see how he was reacting to this particular spiel, but a glance from the corner of my eye told me he looked awkward, which made me think, well. Same. The washcloth caught my gaze and I quickly picked it up before proceeding to wipe the already-clean countertop. Now this was what I called a brilliant first-after-half-a-decade conversation.

Potter took a sip of his drink and then took three more—a part of me rejoiced because he liked my drink. "Thanks," he said, and then sipped some more. After a moment, he added, "I think."

We stared at each other.

And then just when I was starting to get real uncomfortable, his features arranged to form a hesitant smile. Thank Merlin. "This is a very bizarre evening I'm having here," he said as took yet another sip of his drink before emitting a satisfied sigh, which made me tingle with happiness.

"What are you saying, man?" I said jokingly. "You should come to the Odd Waffling more often. It's the place to be at for that classic brand of awkward reunion."

"Never knew what I was missing out on then," he grinned, quickly finished off his drink with a few more gulps. I almost automatically began to prepare him another drink, mulling over the weirdly positive turn this encounter had taken. Never would I have thought that a happenstance involving Potter would result in anything but furious dialogue, but it had. And it was starting to look like we might actually…

Get along.

This was weird.

Really weird.

As my hand wrapped around the small dispenser of Snippernut extract, I suddenly registered what I was doing. I was making him a Bristling Bastard.

My hand stilled. Just how distracted was I? I inwardly swore as I stared at the swirling mixture, wondering what I was to do now. Dump it? Give it to him anyway, see how he reacts? I'd already made most of it, and it would be such a waste…

The drink I'd been making was one of my crazier creations. Not exactly on the menu, but I was rather fond of the concoction. And I'd only ever tested it on Gina before.

I gave Potter a sidelong glance. The guy was laidback, wasn't he? Too laidback, sometimes—it used to be one of the main reasons why we clashed as students. He wouldn't mind, would he?

I warily picked up the Snippernut and poured in two ounces.

"—but no," I blinked as his voice suddenly faded back into existence. Oh. He'd been talking all throughout and I hadn't heard a single word, which made me feel slightly guilty. I made sure to listen as he continued, watching him gesture as I poured in a healthy sampling of gin. "I'd just come over to my agent's place for a chat and decided to walk around instead of immediately Apparating. Saw this place a couple of minutes in and decided to pop in for a couple of swigs… certainly didn't expect to bump into you of all people."

"Weirder things have happened, you know," I informed him as I placed the crackling, milky glass in front of him with an unintentional flourish. Potter stared at it, looking fearful but interested. I began to feel much more positive about my choice of cocktail… after all, he hadn't run away like I had dreaded he would.

"What is it?" he asked as he picked up the goblet and sniffed. He didn't take an immediate sip, even though I knew it smelled gorgeous.

"I like to call it the Bristling Bastard," I told him with a tentative smile. "It's a gin-and-white-wine infusion, with Snippernut, and a teensy bit of crushed Unicorn hair." He gave me a scrutinizing glance, and I couldn't help but urge him a little bit. "It's nice, really. I promise you won't drop dead."

He still didn't take a sip. Rather, his eyes widened in realization, which instantly made me hide my face with my hands. Slowly, his lips curled to form an amused smirk. "Are you experimenting on me, Watts?"

I peeked at him through my fingers. "Maybe a little."

His smirk widened. "I haven't consented to it, you know."

I gave him an imploring look. "Give it a shot."

I felt very uncertain as he stared at me, smirk still prominent. The seconds passed and the silence dragged on, piling me with nervousness as neither of us moved a single muscle. Then just when I was about to offer to take it back, he raised the glass and took a large, daring gulp.

I held my breath, steadfastly ignoring that feeling downstairs at the bob of his Adam's apple, that was a large gulp, holy shit—

Potter sputtered.

"Mother of fuck," he said, eyes going wide as his tongue began to tingle from the Snippernut, as I knew it would. Snippernut was a tricky concentrate to use—the plant it came from was known to use slight shocks as a defensive mechanism, but the Unicorn hair actually softened the blow so that it was only just a series of strong prickles. Gina had bequeathed me with a hundred kisses when I'd tested it on her the very first time, but she was only one person. What did Potter think?

"Do you like it?" I asked him eagerly, and he looked at me with these stunned eyes.

"Like it?" Potter asked me, and with a jolt I saw that a couple of his hairs were actually standing on end as a consequence of the aftershock, which made my mouth tug at the corners. "Watts, this is so good! Merlin's ballsack," he took another large gulp, shivering when his mouth began to tingle again. "I adore this."

Accomplishment!

I grinned, feeling pleased, and poured myself a glass of water to sip on.

Then it hit me. Again. Potter and I were having a civil conversation. Potter and I were having a conversation I actually enjoyed. This hadn't happened in... Well, it hadn't happened. Like ever.

"Potter," I said with wonder as he went for it and gulped down like half the glass, which really made his hair stand on end. I shook my head and laughed, feeling very flattered. "Potter, look at us. We're actually having a conversation. A civil conversation."

"I'm aware," he said. A bemused grin spread across his face and holy moly, I was shocked to realize that I found it really cute. "And you haven't even resorted to hexing me yet. It's probably a personal record."

"Hey," I said with furrowed brows. "I wasn't that bad. Was I?"

Potter's eyes twinkled. "It's okay," he said with amusement. "I was probably just as bad."

"You were a little shit back then," I informed him as I relaxed, finally comfortable.

His grin widened. "And you were an obnoxious little know-it-all. Which one's worse?"

My lips pursed in joking annoyance. "Gitface."

He was quick to respond. "Arse-kisser."

I geared for a challenge. "Wanker."

His eyebrows raised. "Swot."

"Twatwipe."

"Anal neurotic."

"Shrivel-dick."

"Baddock's arsecrack."

"Broderick's butt plug."

"Oh, that's so vile."

Wait, that last one hadn't come from either of our mouths—

My gaze flew to the right and settled on Jeremy's laughing visage. Potter whipped around just as surprised, and Jeremy twittered his fingers at us with an entertained smile.

I immediately turned red.

"Jeremy," I coughed, and for some reason I felt very embarrassed. "You're back."

"I am," he agreed as he picked up his notebook and pen. "Gina was refusing to be put to bed. I was afraid you were going to throw a fit but obviously I needn't have worried." His grin turned almost evil as he gave Potter a friendly nod. "You barely noticed I was gone."

Oh, god.

Potter smiled back, but even he looked a little red. He looked red and very, very uncertain. Quietly, he distracted himself by focusing on his drink. My blush became even worse with his obvious mortification. Way to conceal that regret that definitely nobody needs to see, mate.

"I—" I cleared my throat and patted my cheeks, unwilling to meet any of their eyes. Almost subconsciously, my hands reached for the washcloth and I began wiping the countertop again—god, I was getting real predictable with that habit. I needed to come up with better distractions, and soon. "Well, you know, old Hogwarts acquaintances and all—"

Then I noticed table seven trying to catch our attention, which immediately made me sigh with insurmountable relief. "Oh look, table seven is beckoning," I pointed vaguely and hurriedly. "Go."

Jeremy laughed again. "On it, boss-lady." He saluted, and with a quick adjustment of his T-shirt, he picked up his orders and finally left.

I didn't look at Potter, still embarrassed. "I'm sorry, he's a bit of a joker."

"It's cool, really," he said, and I looked at him out of the corner of my eye to see him smiling, still a little pink. Okay, that was a bit optimistic. "He sounds like a good guy."

"Mhm," I said, and gulped my water until the blush started to recede. "Would you like another drink, then?"

"Oh," he said as he stared at his empty glass. "No, I'm good. Actually, I ought to be going… I'm already a bit late for dinner. I shouldn't have stayed as long as I had."

"Oh," I said, and for some reason I felt a bit dismayed. Scratch regret, he probably wanted to erase the entire thing from his memory or something. I tilted my head and forced a smile. "Alright, sure. It was good catching up with you, though."

"Yeah," he agreed, slipping out of his stool to give me a little quirk of his lips. I was too involved in my lamentations to fully appreciate how adorable it was. "How much is it?"

"Hm?" I frowned before realizing he was talking about the bill. I bit my lip and waved it off. No way was I going to let him pay after that. "Don't worry, it's on the house."

"What?" he frowned right back at me. "Don't be silly, I can pay—"

"Potter," I cut him off, my hands fiddling with the washcloth in my hand. "I was using you as a test subject, anyway. Consider it an apology for… you know…"

"But—" he continued to protest, but fell silent when he saw my pleading look. "Fine," he relented, and the smile returned. "It was nice seeing you, Watts. I might bump into you again."

Sure you will. I laughed. The guy was probably never going to darken the Waffling's doorstep again. "Bye, Potter."

"See you," he said, and then turned to walk away. I sighed, smile slipping.

Then he turned back, almost as an afterthought. My body froze.

"You can call me James, you know" he said awkwardly.

Uh.

"Uh," I uttered, completely nonplussed, and Potter hurried to continue. "I mean, Watts, you don't have to," he said, holding up his palms. "I was just saying—"

"It's Eileen," I interrupted, and then paused, bewildered. Had I really just said that? Potter—James—looked surprised. " I proceeded to clarify. "You can be James if I can be Eileen."

Wow, way to sound like a total twit.

"Eileen," he repeated, and the way he sounded out my name actually made my toes curl. Holy shit. And then he grinned so wide that I had to catch myself before I swooned. This was unnerving. Any more and I would explode. "I'll see you."

My lips quirked. "Potter—James," I tried, and was surprised to find how easy was to say—you know, not in terms of the act of saying words, it was like one syllable—but figuratively speaking. "James," I repeated more confidently, and I think maybe his eyes glowed, but eyes tended to do that because light, and reflection and all, so I dismissed that outrageous thought. "I hope you have a good night."

He inclined his head in appreciation before giving me one last smile. And then he left.

I waited for ten seconds.

Good, no sign of him.

Holy fuck on fucking shit. That just happened. That just happened. Were we flirting? We were flirting, weren't we? I was flirting with him. He was flirting with me. We were flirting with each other. Wow, Potter—I mean James—he was here, and we talked like civil human beings—and then we flirted. Oh my god.

I sagged against the countertop, feeling strangely exhausted.

I needed a drink.

Like right now.


A/N:

Hello!

Edited and then reuploaded chapter one. Two might come soon! Gotta explore this alcohol business man, it's too tempting not to. Tell me what you think!

See you later. :)

R.