Tell Them This When I Die

Lessons in Learning Theory and Hooking Up

Sarah has been abandoned.

The night was going well, at first. They all took a shot together, and Sarah loosened up a little. But then those guys that invited Kelsey showed up, so Madison and her pressed themselves to them and started playing poker by the far side. Sarah draws a little pattern on the counter, bored.

"Can I get you something?"

Sarah looks up. The bartender is massive, burly, slightly scary. But his voice is kind. His skin is dark, his eyes like coffee.

"Um, I'm okay, thanks."

"Driving?" he asks. He wipes down the spills to her right.

"Oh, no. I honestly just can't afford any of the cocktails here." She lets out an awkward laugh.

His mouth lifts up a little at the side. "You're not supposed to buy them," he says. "You're supposed to get someone else to buy them for you."

Sarah smiles. "Is that the way it works?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Absolutely. Pick out someone who looks rich and dazzle him."

"Well, I'm not very dazzling."

"I beg to differ."

Sarah clears her throat quietly. She's pretty sure the bartender is flirting with her, but she can't think of anything interesting to say back. She searches her mind. He's still wiping down the counters around him, the muscles in his arms tensing and relaxing. He glances at her for her reply.

"Are you rich?" Sarah asks. She wants to crawl under the counter and die. There is no way she said those words.

Peter laughs, but one side of his mouth curls more than the other. He throws the towel over his shoulder. "Sure," he says. He leans against the counter across from her. "What do you want?"

Sarah looks at the bottles behind him. There's no menu. She has no clue how drinks work. Adam would order her drinks for her, and they were always sweet. There was one she absolutely loved, but she can't remember what it was called.

"I'm not sure," Sarah says. "I don't really drink."

Peter looks her right in the eye as he speaks, "You look like a cherry girl. You like cherries?"

"I love cherries. Oh—" Sarah remembers the name of that drink. "A Shirley temple! Can I get one of those? They have cherries, right?"

Peter makes that slanted smile again, but it's not exactly condescending. "They do, but Shirley temples are virgin. I'll put something fun in it, if you like."

Sarah blushes. "Okay, sure."

Peter nods, then pushes off the counter to grab the vodka. He flips the grenadine bottle. Eris taught him that trick on a slow night one time. Told him every woman likes a bartender with quick hands.

Sarah watches him pour. He's got nimble hands. Quick.

"You here with friends?" Peter asks, spinning the bowl of cherries towards her.

Sarah nods. "They're over there. Playing poker."

"You're not a fan of the game?" Peter asks. He takes a red toothpick and stabs four cherries into it.

"I don't know how to play," Sarah admits.

Peter puts the lime slice on and slides her the drink. He leans against the counter again. "Nobody really knows how to play poker."

Sarah stops the drink before it slides in her lap. Talk about something she likes to talk about. Something that makes sense to her. As the bartender watches her, Sarah suddenly realizes she can't remember any of the things she likes. Daphne. She likes Daphne.