He despises Taco Bell. Really, if it weren't for Sven, he would be far, far away from this greasy hell.
"Dude!" Sven drawls. "A Coke!"
"Whatever."
And as he's reaching for the ice dispenser, he's thrown backward, blinded by an auburn mane of hair. "Sorry!" she titters, haphazardly dispensing bursts of soda.
She's about to snap the lid in place, when the brownish concoction tumbles down her sundress.
He grabs napkins, trying to blot it from her dress.
(Avoids her breasts.)
"Oh gosh, thanks..." she rambles.
"No problem."
Back to his table. "Where's my Coke?" Sven asks.
"They serve Pepsi."