We're Getting There // A.I

Chapter 10 // Be Mine Valentine

February 14 : -1 day till due

I'm sure I have makeup running down my face.

Not a good look when you're serving people drinks, but I've just been stood up and honestly, I don't care if I have some mascara on my cheeks. That is that last time I ever let Jamie set me up on a blind date.

"I had no idea he was gay!" She'd argued over the phone, and I'd promptly hung up on her and made my way to work in a huff.

It was pumping, as to be expected. Couples filtered in, on their way to probably hook up in one of the hotel rooms, but not before stopping by the bar to pick up a martini or scotch.

Calum is running around like a madman, whipping out drink after drink like he has eight arms. His cheeks are tinted pink and his hair is in disarray, a pencil tucked behind his ear and a notepad shoved in the breast pocket of his canvas apron. He has to work so hard because I'm slacking, maybe making a drink every five minutes, stopping every now and then to have a little cry under the counter.

"Charlie, please, my arms are about to fall off" Calum begs, squatting down beside where I'm sitting on the floor. "You need to help me out."

"I'm sorry Cal," I sniff, accepting his helping hand up and standing, looking around.

The crowds are thinning as it gets later, people wandering off to their hotel rooms or back home.

I really didn't want to be alone this Valentines day.

"Charlie!" Calum calls from across the bar, waving his hands in the air.

An older lady wearing a large set of pearls and a cocktail dress is tugging on the straps of Calum's apron, trying to pull him down to her and laughing. "There's a customer over there! Can you get to him? I'm kind of - oooft - preoccupied."

I nod and look to where he pointed, spotting a lone hunched over figure. I approach him warily, not sure how to get his attention. His forehead is pressed against the counter, his cuff links undone and his suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing tanned forearms.

"What can I getcha, buddy?" I ask, and he looks up at me through his short wavy hair.

"A date?" He asks, his cheeks flushed and his eyes tired.

"We don't serve that here man, as much as I wish we did" I admit. "But I can get you a drink. There anything that you want?"

"Vodka," he says, before bringing his forehead back down the counter with a satisfying plunk. "Double shot."

I nod and make the drink, poking his bicep and setting it down in front of him. He sits up and grabs it with a strong grip, and by the way his knuckles go white I feel like he's going to break the glass. He downs it in one huge gulp and I clap, impressed.

"Can I have another one?" He asks, hiccuping.

"You sure? That's some pretty strong stuff" I advise, but pour the glass anyway and slide it to him.

He picks it up and downs it in the same time he did the other glass, and looks up at me solemnly.

"The girl I was seeing for a year decided to dump me, while we were on a date, on Valentine's Day" he says. "I should hope this stuff is strong."

"Fair enough. It if it makes you feel any better, my friend set me up with a gay guy accidentally and he agreed to the date because my name is Charlie, and he thought I was a dude. When he found out I wasn't a guy he - understandably - backed out and didn't show up, but no one told me he wasn't coming" I explain, leaning against the counter. "It was so embarrassing, I sat there for ages in a dress waiting for this guy to show up, but he never did."