"Can I buy you a drink?"

I glanced over my shoulder at the man who was standing behind me. He was tall and scrawny, with brown slicked-back hair complete with a superman curl, and it looked like he hadn't been stingy with the hair gel. He raised one bushman eyebrow and gave me a too-wide smile with his well-meaning gopher teeth. "Because you're so hot that you're going to need something to cool you down."

I rolled my eyes at him; there are some nerds you feel sorry for, and some nerds that you throw out onto the street by their ears with a bus pass and a calculus book. Two guesses which group this one belonged to. I forced a smile. "Yeah… no thanks. I'm good."

He took the seat next to me, leaning in close enough that I could smell the pungent mixture of sweat and large amounts of axe and liquor. "No. Really, baby, what are you drinking?"

Someone slid into the seat on my other side, and I could barely hold in an exasperated sigh. "Hey, sorry that I'm late. Traffic was like the Arc de Triomphe at ten." I frowned and turned to look at the man. He was much better looking than Nerd-boy Wonder sitting next to me, with black hair that was neatly combed back and bright blue, interested eyes. His clothes were... 'fancy' - for lack of a better word - for a bar like this; slacks and a polo covered by a dark sweater vest, complete with a tie... but they suited him. He seemed much more aware of himself than most of the men in here. "Hey, who's this?" he said, as if he'd just noticed the man on the other side of me.

"Oh, um..." I turned back towards Napolean Dynomite, realizing the escape route the second man had handed to me. "Actually, I don't even know your name." It was a statement, not a question, but I was fairly sure that this subtelty would be lost on him.

He didn't dissapoint. "Ethan." He leaned closer to me posessively; apparently we would have to lay it on much thicker before he'd get the message.

"Ah," I turned back to the second man, making the distain clear in my voice. "Apparently, his name's Ethan."

"Hey," The man leaned in, and I found that he also smelled like liquor... but more like fine wine than thick beer. He spoke softly, just barely loud enough that Ethan could hear, "You're not wearing that necklace I gave you."

I scoffed, and reacted on instinct. The lie came from a much more natural place than if I'd sat and tried to think about how to respond. "Are you kidding me?" I made my voice heavily exasperated, exaggerating all the emotions so that Ethan could still follow despite his addled brain. "It's way too expensive for this bar. It'd probably get stolen."

"It couldn't get stolen if it was around your neck," the man pointed out in a reasonable voice, though there was a humorous gleam in his eyes that said he wasn't nearly as naive as he was making himself sound.

"Yes it could," I continued, not sure how much longer I would need to keep the conversation going. "I could get mugged. Just because you're comfortable walking in here wearing somthing like that..." I gestured toward his outfit with one hand.

The man paused, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "He's gone."

I exhaled, sitting back and stretching. "Thanks for getting that guy off my back."

"You know–" He was grinning widely, and it lit up his whole face. But I'd met plenty of guys like him before.

"Now can you get off my back?" I didn't even look over at him to see his reaction. The woman behind the bar handed me a glass of amber liquid and a bag of peanuts and gave the man beside me an amused, if slightly sympathetic, look. He still didn't move, though he didn't say anything, either. I munched on a couple of peanuts for a minute, determinedly ignoring him, before I grabbed the glass and drank most of it in one swallow.

I head the man next to me ordering a beer. It was quiet until the beer arrived, then the man took it and nearly chocked on it. I turned to him, exasperated. He grimaced in my direction. "That'll wake you up in the morning!" He paused, blinking hard, as if trying to clear something from his vision. "And then put you right back to sleep."

I pursed my lips, trying hard to not laugh as I realized why he'd ordered the beer in the first place. "Mine was apple juice." His face was so shocked that I couldn't help it; I burst out laughing. "What's your name?"

He tilted his head at me, his eyes cautious after his mistake, but still hopeful. "Neal. What's yours?"

My smile widened. "Nice try, Neal." I stood up and moved over to seat with a small, balding man with square glasses who was hunched over a table, trying to not appear obvious. I'd had this meeting set up for a long time.

"Mozzy?" I heard Neal ask from behind me. "But he's bald. I have hair."

I had to fight hard not to laugh; he did have hair, that was for certain. That, and Mozzy was a really wierd name.

The girl left, and Mozzy smiled slightly at how carefully she had avoided giving him her real name. He waited a long moment, then stood up and moved over to Neal, who was sitting slumped over on a barstool. "Hey, I need some help with a fake ID. Needs to be perfect."

Neal's response was sluggish, almost. He paused for a long moment, but then his face lit up. "Was that wha' she wanted?"

Mozzy frowned. "Were you under the assumption that she was after something else?" He paused a moment in thought. "Oh," he said with a small gasp. "Do you think she's under-cover?" Maybe she was working for some government people and trying to get evidence to prove that they were making fake IDs. The only problem with that theory was that ID's weren't their normal thing, and they didn't exactly advertize themselves.

"No," Neal said softly, a slow smile spreading across his face. "No, I don' think so."

"Huh." Mozzy frowned, trying to read Neal's mood. "Well, that's good."

"Yep." He was smiling even wider now.

Mozzy was just about to ask what was up when a girl sat on the other side of him from Neal, just a seat away. "So, what are you in for?" Mozzy said with raised eyebrows. The girl gave him a strange look and got up, moving a couple more seats away.

"Swiiiiiiiiiiiiing'n a m'ss."

Mozzy turned back to his friend, his expression incredulous. "How many drinks have you had, Neal?"

"Oh, ya know." But apparently he didn't know, because he had to spend a few seconds in thought. "A couple u' wine. Maybe m're..." he trailed off, and squinted into the distance, appearing to be thinking hard. "May-maybe a couple m're th'n a couple. An'a glass a' apple juice – I mean beer. Should'a b'n an apple juice." His speech, which had already been slurred, was getting much worse.

"Why did you drink beer?"

"'Cuz I though' it w's apple juice." He paused in thought about. "I m'n beer. I though' the apple juice w's beer."

"So…" Mozzy said slowly, trying to understand what Neal meant to say. "You drank applejuice?"

"No!" his voice was hoarse, frustrated. "I drank beer! Tha's the probl'm."

"Neal?"

"Mozzy, you don' 'ave to be ups't." Neal was suddenly calm, consoling. He turned to look up at Mozzy, his blue eyes concerned. "They on'y l'ke me m're 'cause I'm pr'ttier th'n you." He paused again, and exhaled sharply as he stared down at the bar. "Hey, Mozzie... I don' feel s'good."

Mozzy sighed. "Come on, Pretty Boy." He put an arm around Neal's waist, and helped Neal throw an arm around his shoulders. It was a good thing that Neal wasn't completely out of it, because there was no way that Mozzy could actully have carried him out of there. Just as they were nearing the entrance, a good-looking girl entered. Neal grinned. "Hi."

The girl shook her curly brown hair out across her shoulders and stepped delicately around them, a grimace on her face.

"Swiiiiiiiiiiiiing... and a miss." Mozzy's voice was almost gleeful.

So... what do you think? Was it good enough that I should waste a couple of dozen more hours of my life on it? Or even a couple more than a couple dozen hours? I crave your opinons the way pregnant women crave food. Even if you absolutely despise my story with the burning passion of a thousand suns. But it's okay if you like it, too.

COMMENT! Please? ...