Sorry about the wait! Hope you like this one, it's full of sass ;)
A rescue in a bar. "How dare you look down your nose at me like that?"
The bar was hopping tonight. Sweat and alcohol mingled in Emily's nostrils, which flared a little out of disgust. The stench and heat wrapped around her like a sweater. You'd think she would be used to it by now.
She sidled up to the counter, snatching the bartender's gaze right away. He was a chubby young guy probably in his mid-twenties, complete with a scruffy beard and thin, patchy hair that added ten years to his appearance. Seeing him nightly reminded Emily to be grateful she wasn't straight.
"Whataya want?" he grunted. His name was something like Scott or Stu— one of those slimy grease ball names she couldn't be bothered to recall.
"Take a wild guess," she fired back. Scott or Stu rolled his bloodshot eyes and spun around to retrieve a glass and a couple of bottles. He was being so secretive about the concoction he was brewing up with his back turned, Em wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if he spit in her drink or spiked it with a muscle relaxer of some sort. She leaned forward, watching as he ambled back around and slammed the skinny glass in front of her on the sticky counter. A flimsy cocktail napkin was flicked in her direction along with it.
They stared at each other for a few wavering seconds. Emily swirled around the glass, her midnight-blue manicure clinking along the frosty surface.
"What, y'think I Cosby'd you? Don't be fucking dumb," Scott or Stu grumbled.
"Oh, no, of course not! I know you've always been so overjoyed to serve me. Why would I be suspicious at all?" Emily smiled sweetly. With that she snatched up the drink and took a few cautious swallows. Gin and tonic. Tasted normal enough. Hell if she knew what was frozen into those ice cubes though.
He scowled at her. "Am I in the clear?"
His mocking tone was met with an even smirk. "One-hundred percent. Bravo."
Once he thankfully turned away to tend to another customer, Emily spent the next five or ten minutes sipping her drink and people watching. All kinds of weird folk roamed this bar; it was like an African safari, with the same wildness, variety, and unpredictability of what you could stumble upon. Just minus the break-your-neck bumpy truck ride.
Tonight offered an intriguing assortment. There was a loud group of frat boys in one corner, whooping as their buddy chugged a quick succession of shots. Emily would rather fool around with Scott or Stu than plunge herself in that revolting pool of idiocrasy.
A few tables away sat a nervous young couple. They looked like they were in the last place they wanted to be. They also looked so out of place, it was painful to watch. Emily would sooner expect to see her no-nonsense grandmother partying it up here than those two.
She was just starting to scrutinize a girl with a half-decent ass when the door opened, and in breezed the most peculiar sight Emily had ever laid her eyes on in this bar.
If actual rags were a real clothing item, this chick was wearing them. Baggy gray sweatpants, ratty navy blue hoodie, and dirty sneakers. Her hair was a pretty shade of blonde— likely dyed— but split into frizzy strands that reached all over the place. Purple bags stained the skin beneath her eyes and smeared lipstick had migrated up one cheek and down her chin. Various labels for her swarmed Emily's mind, none of them too nice.
Surely she was a soccer mom who had pulled up in her soccer mom van with scuff marks on the hubcaps and a "My Kid Is An Honor Student!" sticker peeling off the rear chrome bumper.
And so, naturally, Emily turned back to her drink.
The other woman just so happened to choose her location of brooding and misery only a few seats down from Emily. Em could practically feel the threatening shadow of Frizzy Blonde's dreary storm cloud drifting towards her.
She sighed for the millionth time, pretending not to hear as the poor girl ordered the cheapest martini Scott or Stu's grubby sausage fingers could prepare.
"What the heck is your problem?"
The words didn't have an effect on Emily at first, because she did not realize they were aimed at her. It was only when a sassy "Ahem!" followed that she bothered to glance back up at Frizzy Blonde.
Emily arranged her lips in a stiff, toothless grin and draped a hand innocently over her chest. "You talking to me, sweetie?" Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Scott or Stu looking intrigued at the brewing cat fight. He stood frozen in between them, wiping a glass with a dirty rag in the cliché bartender position, and turning his head back and forth as if he was watching a tennis match.
"Yeah, I sure am talking to you," Frizzy Blonde replied. Already it was apparent that her argument was losing steam, and this satisfied Emily immensely. "I- I mean… look at you! In your stupid, skimpy little cocktail dress, it looks like sausage casing on you! Gross! Who wants to see that?"
"Well, if you'd really like to know just who wants to see this"— Emily motioned to her body— "I can write you up a decent list of all the gals I've scored with in bed in the last couple years."
Frizzy Blonde made a sound of disgust and shifted her tired eyes back to her fruity diabetes-fest of a drink. Emily noticed then how piercing of a green this chick's eyes were.
Emily snapped out of it. She tried to.
Yet she was still staring a minute later. Frizz snapped her head back up and glared with a gaze chilly enough to puncture Emily's soul. She had seen many an emotionless look in this bar, but never had she locked horns with eyes so barren and so full of emotion at the same time.
"What are you doing?" Frizz demanded. "Ugh, how dare you look down your prissy little nose at me like that! Sorry I'm not all glitz-and-glammed up for your favorite nightly bar charade."
"H- hey, I wasn't—"
"Save it, honey. Not every night can be my night, okay?"
Emily swallowed around the ping-pong ball that had formed in her throat. She forced herself to have a staring contest with the melting ice cubes in her drink, and somehow lost.
"Ah well, tough luck," Scott or Stu sneered, suddenly looming in her vision again. "Guess she's not into you. Time for me to make my mooove."
What a disgrace. Emily chose not to honor him with the chance of hearing her speak. Instead she slumped a bit more and watched as he sauntered back down to Frizz and passed her a napkin with his phone number scrawled on it.
"I know tonight may not be your night," his words crept over in Emily's direction, "but I can turn it into our night real quick." Pause. "If you catch my drift," he added.
"Oh, uh, no thanks," Frizz said. She pushed the napkin back to him. "Trust me, if I was going out to pick up people, I would actually make an effort in my appearance."
"I don't need any effort from you, baby. I can put all the effort in myself." He smirked and pushed the napkin back.
The girl gritted her teeth. "I'm sorry, but no." She pushed the napkin back.
He leaned in close to her. "How about you have another drink and see how you feel after that, hm?"
"Dude, I said no!"
Emily shot up off her stool and marched the couple feet down to them. She took ahold of Frizz's arm, swiveled her stool so she was facing her, then swept her into her arms and pressed her lips on the stranger's. Sweat was dripping down her neck and her pulse was throbbing in her throat. The make-out session was vigorous and all the energy she put into it was just as heartily returned.
Then, all at once, it was over. They separated with a juicy pop and Emily was positive her lipstick was now also smeared not only on her face, but also on the other girl's. Scott or Stu was looking at them dazedly, and from the expression on his face, he was a mixture of horny and devastated.
"Sorry, bud. She's already taken," Em stated.
His jaw dropped slightly. "Wha—"
"She's my lover," Frizz supplied. "So you gonna scoot or what?"
He sputtered for a few seconds, then spit out, "I- if I pay you guys twenty bucks, will you let me watch again—"
"How about I pay you twenty bucks to fuck off?" Emily suggested. He frowned and finally set down the second drink he had made up for Frizz, then at last walked away. Emily took one look at it and shook her head. "I would not drink that if I were you."
Frizz giggled. "Thanks. You're a lifesaver. And I must admit, I would not mind doing that again. Just, y'know, preferably in a more private setting."
Em nodded. "That can be arranged." She dipped her head. "Emily. You?"
"I'm Jess, I was dumped three months ago, and today I lost custody of my son." Something must've flickered on Emily's face, because right away Jess grinned with resignation. "I understand if that's a turn-off for you."
"No, no… it's not. I promise. I just— do you wanna get out of here?"
Jessica's smile widened. "You're such a cliché, I love it! I mean that in the nicest possible way, by the way. Let's go." She hopped off her stool and the two began to leave the bar, only for Emily to be flagged down by Scott or Stu for what she knew would be the final time.
"H- hey, I, uh, actually could kinda use twenty bucks, I don't need to watch anything but—"
"Hey, I offered twenty for you to fuck off, but you fucked off for free! The offer has expired, Stu," Em said.
"My name's Stan!" the guy whined as Jess pulled Emily out the door.
The responses he received were a well-manicured middle finger and a barely audible "Close enough!" as the door to the bar slammed shut.