At First Sight

Whiskey Stranger

Michael had been gone for two weeks and Sara was miserable. She missed his voice, his touch, his hot wordy whispers in her ear and the way they made love. She missed the way he made her feel safe in any situation and the way he made her heart dangerously skip a beat. They had talked on the telephone but between his workload and her shifts at the hospital, they had very little contact.

On a rare occasion where she had time to herself, Sara sat at home, alone, draped in one of Michael's shirts and curled up on her couch. Even her couch smelled of him and his shirt drowned her in a mixture of his after-shave and passionate sexual sweaty scents. She hugged her mug of cappuccino lovingly, its frothy residue and biter sweet taste reminding her way he tasted in her mouth.

Sara was startled into reality by a sudden ringing that echoed through her silent apartment. She pushed herself off the couch and shuffled towards the telephone with reluctance. The sleeves of Michael's shirt slid down her arms, hiding her hands in their crinkled tubes. Sara reached for the telephone and held it to her ear. "Hello?" she croaked expectantly, her throat dry from not talking.

"Sara?"

"Hi Mer," her heart sank once again. It was not Michael. Meredith had hung around a little longer then she expected to because her boss forward slash boyfriend was still being a jerk apparently.

"Sara come out with me," she diving into her point, her voice pleading at the other end of the line. "Please? It's my last night here and I don't want to go without seeing you." Sara knew she meant at the bar. The bar where she had first initiated her sexual relationship with Michael. She sighed at the thought of him again.

"Please Sara. It will do you good to get out," Meredith told her friend without the any sugaring of any pills. She knew Sara missed Michael but she also knew that a good drink and some lively fun would wake her up a little and stop her being such a dreary drag on society.

"Ok," Sara sighed, defeated. "Come get me, I'll get ready." Meredith screeched with glee down the phone, which made Sara laugh a little.

"Give me fifteen minutes," she said before a dial tone filled Sara's ear. She smiled at the receiver as she placed it back on its cradle and headed for her bedroom to make herself look like Sara again.

Thirty minutes later they were at the bar, the smoky atmosphere almost choking Sara as she stared into her glass. It rested on a green napkin, the thin red straw making the whole scenario look like a weak attempt at a Christmas decoration. She stirred her ice in the bottom, it rattling around the glass with a flat sound.

"Is this seat taken?" a deep sedating voice vibrated through the air beside her. For a split second Sara thought she had heard Michael's voice like liquid perfection in the air. She smiled kindly at the stranger and shook her head, taking a gulp of her drink. It tasted dead on her tongue but five whiskies do that for you.

The stranger took his seat next to her and ordered her another of whatever she was drinking. Sara politely declined holding her glass up to him, showing she still had some left. He gave her a rejected smile before paying the barmen for his beer and fidgeting nervously on his stool.

"So," was his feeble attempt at conversation. "What's a beautiful girl like you doing in a seedy bar like this?" he laughed, knowing his line was overused and under successful. Sara laughed weakly before casting her eyes to the crowded dance floor.

"I'm here with a friend," she squinted to find Meredith in the mass of moulding bodies and flashing lights. The stranger followed her gaze before turning back to her and shrugging. "His loss, right?" he commented, fishing for any clue she was here with someone else.

"Her loss," Sara corrected him. "I'm here with a colleague." Sara found herself warming to the stranger's advances, even though she knew it was wrong. She couldn't seem to help herself. His blue eyes glowed under the cheap bar lighting and his broad frame mimicked Michael's. He had short brown hair, styled into a spiky placement on his head and light stubble littered his jaw line. He wore a freshly ironed white shirt, a small tuft of chest hair erupting from where three buttons were undone and black pants.

"What?" he caught her staring at him, taking in his every angle with her eyes. Sara shook herself from his allure and planted her eyes back on her drink. He smiled as she blushed.

"Nothing. I'm sorry," she apologised feebly.

"It's ok," he larked before drinking down his beer once more. "I'd stare at me too," he grinned into his bottle rim, raising his eyebrows playfully.

Sara began to resign to his flirtation and smiled back into her own glass. Neither looked at one another as they laughed. He reminded Sara of Michael. His eyes held the same burning stare and his smell was similar. They both had a powerful frame and although this man had slightly rougher looking hands, Sara had no doubt they were as delicate as Michael's.

"I'm Sara" she turned to him and announced out of nowhere. She didn't regret it and his smile told her he was glad she let him into her simplest of secrets. His smile even reminded her of Michael, curving at the edges of his thin mouth to form a passionate smirk, the look of a winner. He had won her name and it was a start.

"That's a pretty name," he told her and ordered her a drink. This time she didn't decline.

Another five drinks later Sara and her pseudo Michael were enjoying a joke over the bar. They had been unsuccessfully trying to fling bar snacks into an empty glass they had positioned away from them both and their attempts were pathetic at best. Not one had entered the glass successfully and Sara's hearty laugh filled the bar where they sat. It was so funny tears had formed in her eyes and she wiped them with a fine finger, trying not to smudge her eyeliner.

"Ok, this time I got it," he announced, his fingernail stinging slightly as it made contact with a salted peanut. Sara held her breath expectantly but her hopes were shattered when the peanut bounced off the edge of the glass and behind the bar.

"Never mind," Sara mocked, patting his shoulder. His laugh faltered slightly and his eyes fell onto her hand. It felt warm through his shirt, her tiny fingertips like little hot spots baking into his flesh. Sara heard he had stopped laughing and turned to face him, her eyes falling to where his focused on her hand. She pulled it from his muscles quickly, his eyes meeting hers before she had time to apologise.

As if in slow motion he leaned forward aiming his mouth for hers. Sara looked down to his lips before pulling backwards, making him stop dead. His lips hovered above hers but neither moved. Sara whipped her head away and took a long gulp of her drink, finishing what was left in the glass. It stung her throat as a penance for her almost lusty encounter.

"I'm sorry," he apologised like the perfect gentleman sitting back on his stool. "The booze," he held up his beer bottle to her and she smiled faintly. He smiled weakly back at her, his entire being feeling rejected to the core. "Stupid Lincoln," he cursed himself, bashing his heavy black boot into the bar whilst gritting his teeth.