“Yep, you’ve got one foot in the grave already, Eric,” I mutter, making his dark eyes glint.
If I’d been hoping to distract him from gawking at the waitress, I failed. Then again, I think he’s just trying to keep himself from thinking about turning thirty.
A whole two years separates his age from my own. From the first day we met on the elementary school bus, he lorded the fact that he was my elder over me. Recently he seems to regret being the one to forge into our third decade of life first. I think he’s reluctant to accept that he has to grow up.
That’s a stark difference from myself, who accepted it early on.
After all, there are certain things that you go through in life that force you to grow up quicker than you’d like.
A shudder curls up my spine but I grit my teeth, forcing the memory away. I haven't thought of that in so long . . .
I can’t afford to let the pain rise again now.
Eric twists back toward the waitress before she can saunter away. “You heard the man, we’re all about to crumble into dust. I think we need some more liquor at this table to feel alive again!
I suppress a groan, rolling my eyes. This time I can’t blame the booze on Eric. This is my fault for hounding him about getting older. The piece of eye candy lays the tray she’s carrying on the table, taking her time in bending over as far as possible.
“What poison have you got this time, sweetheart?” Eric asks as she passes out the shots.
He can’t keep his eyes off of her, his fingers wandering toward her as though he’s fighting with every inch of his body not to touch her.
She grins widely, rotating her body toward Eric as she passes out the shots. I don’t miss the way the curve of her full breast brushes his shoulder. She bats her eyes, her makeup thick and brightly visible even through the dark and smoky air of the club.
“Whiskey,” she purrs, eyeing him seductively.
It’s probably top shelf, the expensive stuff in crystal bottles that only gets purchased by high-rollers once or twice a year. Even though I’ve already paid for bottle service, I have no doubt this was going to be an extra ludicrous charge. Too bad the poor girl is going to be disappointed when she finds out Eric isn’t as generous with his purse strings as he is with the sinful looks. She’s hitting on the wrong guy, not that her bedroom eyes would affect me the same way it does him.
The woman is beautiful, there’s no doubt about that. I’m sure most of the guys who come here have noticed her and pined for her, just like Eric.
He’s so into her that it’s almost embarrassing. He wets his lips, greedy eyes following the curves of her body. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to get her to sit down on his lap, though I guess even Eric knows his limits.
Even as lustful as he is, he surely knows she’s just flirting to get a better tip.
Unfortunately for her, some side boob and false lashes just won’t do it for me. I slaved my way through my expensive college tuition working multiple jobs. Freshman year I was a waiter so I know the struggle of doing whatever you can to get more tips firsthand.
The cocktail waitress has been attentive and friendly enough to get a good tip, but she’s not going to get the massive one she normally gets by flirting with the customer.
It’s not her. It’s just that I’m not the type of guy who goes for the flashiest woman in a room. I much prefer women who are confident enough in themselves not to wear bright red lipstick, tiny shorts, and pounds of makeup. I don’t want to see every inch right off the bat.
It’s not like I don’t see the appeal. I certainly get why Eric is drooling right now, it’s just not what I prefer.
I want to peel back the layers of clothes, revealing everything beneath with tantric slowness. Time is precious and I like to savor the moment when it’s right.
“Donovan, whiskey’s your favorite!” Eric says firmly, lifting his brows. “It’s like in your blood or something.”
I get it. He’s trying to make sure I’m going to pay for these ridiculously expensive shots. He just doesn’t want to say so in front of the pretty lady.
I have to resist rolling my eyes. Even though I’m running a fledgling nonprofit on the side, I’m still the most well-off guy here. Eric is the only one still living a teenage pipe dream. The rest of our friends are accountants or lawyers or the like, but I’m still the one making it big.
“For the last time, Eric. I’m not Irish. I’m Italian.” I gaze levelly over at my friend, daring him to argue.
Naturally, he does just that. “Italian, Irish, they both start with I, but don’t revolve your whole life around it.” Eric chuckles, though it’s more of a snort. He gets prophetic when he’s drunk. When one of our friends groans, Eric leans over toward him. “Get it? I? Don’t revolve your whole life around yourself? Donovan’s good at that, isn’t he?”
“Eric, if you have to explain a joke, that means it isn’t funny,” I grumble, wishing I could go back in time and take back his words for him.
Maybe I could get the waitress to whack me over the head hard enough to where I forget the last twenty minutes. She’s beginning to lose interest in us, figuring out that I’m the one who’s supposed to be paying and I’m also the one who’s been immune to her cunning wiles. She stiffens up, lips pursed. She knows she’s wasted enough of her time flirting with us when she could’ve been giving someone more generous her attention.
“Let’s do these shots, gentlemen,” I say finally, making her edge closer to me much to Eric’s discontent. “And I’ll take the bill please.”
“Of course!” she answers quickly. “I’ll go get your check for you.”
Without a second glance at Eric, she briskly sashays away, though he doesn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in me now.
“Are you leaving already?” Eric scoffs, abruptly slamming his shot back down in protest. “We just got here like an hour ago.”
“Some of us have more important things to do with our time than get wasted, Eric. Besides, I have work tomorrow.”
He glowers at me, though it’s more of a playful glare than anything. Our entire friendship is based on a firm foundation of bantering back and forth. It’s what makes us so darn charming—or so we like to believe.
Besides, if I didn't have respect for the guy, I wouldn’t still hang out with him.
Sure, he’s immature and irresponsible, but there’s a kind guy underneath all that. Eric is one of the best friends I’ve ever had. He knows me better than anyone, so he knows when to choose his battles.
Eric finally sighs in defeat. “Alright, alright. But first we do these. Drink up, boys!”
Eric picks up his whiskey and gives an invigorated whoop before knocking back the booze. The rest of us follow suit, chugging the glass of liquor. The first few shots have already dulled my taste buds, though I can still feel the familiar heat of the whiskey as it sears down my throat.
I set the glass down, savoring the slightly smoky taste still lingering behind my lips.
Maybe I do have a bit of Irish in me.
Whiskey always seems to hit the spot. Often, when I close a major deal, I’ll have a glass of Scotch and just relish it for a while all by myself in the peace and quiet of my darkened office.