Swipe for a Cosmo by Megan Wade
Swipe for a Cosmo
Jade
Pulling into an unmarked spot next to a row of cars, I look up at the building in front of me, double checking my directions to make sure I have the right place. Valentine’s Bar and Grill. My eyes lift to the glowing neon sign that says as much, and I let out a nervous breath. This place is literally in the middle of nowhere.
Not that it looks creepy. Actually, it’s quite cute with its wooden exterior set against the backdrop of a forest that seems to be venting steam as the sun goes down and the earth cools. If I wasn’t here on my own to meet someone new for the very first time, I’d be loving this log cabin vibe. But since I am here alone to meet someone, everything seems kind of freaky. Even the way that bird sitting on the gutter is looking at me seems kinda freaky…
I shudder and cut the engine, sighing because I just drove almost two hours for a Tinder hookup. How desperate is that? My roommate, Charity, thinks I’m mental. She told me that if a guy isn't willing to come to me, or at least meet me halfway, then he probably isn't worth my time at all. But it's been so long since I've been on a date—since I've done anything with a man, really—and I just didn't want to listen to reason. Now though, sitting in this gravel car park in a town I'm unfamiliar with, I'm second guessing myself. Is a bit of dick really worth all this trouble?
Rubbing my sweaty palms on my thighs, I pick up my phone and scroll back through the messages from my date. We've been flirting back and forth for a few weeks now, and we've also exchanged a few naughty pictures, so I at least feel confident that he's interested in me. Or he wouldn't have wasted all that time and asked me to come out here, right?
I meet my eyes in the rear vision mirror and answer myself out loud, “Right.” Then I give myself a curt nod that gets me reaching for the door handle and stepping outside my car.
Before I go inside, I do a quick check of my reflection in the side mirror, fluffing my blonde hair—that I spent ages curling with my flat iron this afternoon—and doing a touch up of my lip gloss since I've been worrying my mouth so much on the drive here that I've practically rubbed it all off. With a final dab of my pinky fingers beneath my chocolate brown eyes to ensure I don't have any fallout from my eye makeup, I declare myself ready, then take a deep, fortifying breath and head toward the entry of the bar.
The moment I push it open, warm yellow light and music spills out. Something country western that’s twanging its way out of a jukebox set up in front of a small but well-worn dance floor where a handful of people can be seen kicking up their heels. I'm not at all familiar with the song they’re dancing to since I’m all about folk rock these days, but they sure look like they’re having fun. And the country beats suit this place to a T.
In a word, it’s ‘rustic’ with its long bar that looks carved out of a fallen tree, tall stools lining the front of it and booths lining the wall with a smattering of chairs and tables in the space in between. On this side of the serving area is the dance floor, and on the far side are a couple of pool tables that are already in use by a group of young locals. The place is quite packed, considering the only thing around it is trees.
A wolf whistle cuts across the room and my eyes snap to the sound, finding an old man with a red face and a gummy grin leering at me. I realize very quickly that I'm overdressed for a small-town bar. But how was I supposed to know that plaid and cowboy boots were the go here?
“All right, Henry, leave her be,” the big bear of a man behind the bar says when laughter follows the whistle. I offer him a small smile in gratitude and make my way toward him, wishing I’d opted to wear jeans and a pretty top instead.
But it’s not like I’m dressed for a wedding or something over the top like that. I just went a little more ‘smart’ than ‘casual’ by choosing my favorite dress which is long, black—because it's a slimming color—and has a cute little tulle flare that starts at my knees and flows to my ankles. It makes me feel flirty and sexy, which is just what I needed when I’m putting myself out there, pushing myself out of my comfort zone, like they all say you should. Well, it seems that this time, maybe they were wrong.
‘They’ of course, are well-meaning friends, relatives and coworkers who regularly say that they can’t understand why I’m thirty and still single when I have ‘such a pretty face and a great personality’. Insert eye roll here. They say those things to me like they’re being kind. But I don’t miss the judgement in their tone, or the few blatant commenters who suggest that ‘maybe if you lose a few pounds it’ll help?’
Thanks, Monica. Why didn’t I think of that?
Ugh.
Why does the entire world have to be obsessed with my weight?
Well, probably not the entire world, but it does certainly feel like that sometimes. It’s like they all think that the solution to all my problems lies in being slim. And I just don’t believe that’s the case. Why? Because I have been slim and I didn’t feel any better about myself than I do now, but at least now I’m not hungry. So that’s a point in the plus column for me as far as I’m concerned.
Letting out a steady breath, I continue toward the bar and the hunky bartender.
“What can I get’cha, darlin’,” he asks as he sets a coaster down in front of me. My eyes lift up…up to his, finding kindness mixed with interest in their murky green depths.
“Ah, hi. I’m actually here meeting someone. So, I think maybe I’ll just get a Cosmo? Yeah. A Cosmo. Just to take the edge off a bit. Ah… please.” I flash him my brightest smile and he responds with a smirk that produces a dimple that can be seen despite his full beard. And speaking of full things on this man, he has an even fuller chest and big, thick arms that tell me he isn’t afraid of a bit of hard work. And to top all that off, he has tattoos on his forearms, hands and fingers and some serious chunky metal jewelry. In a word, he’s hot as fuck with a tinge of danger going for him. Wait. That’s eleven words. But you get my drift…
“First date?”
My brow lifts. “You can tell that based on my order?”
“I can tell you’re not from around here, and that you’re obviously nervous. So, educated guess.”
“Oh. Well, good observation.”
He nods before he reaches into a fridge below the bar and pulls out a beer, uncapping it and setting it in front of me. “There you go, darlin’.”
“Oh.” I point at the beer and shake my head. “This isn’t what I ordered. I asked for a Cosmo.”
He leans on the bar, flexing his muscular, tattooed arms as he grins in a way that makes my insides flip and my fingers itch to run my fingers through his too-long dirty-blond hair. I press my knees together. “Sweetheart, I have no idea what a Cosmo is. Here in Whisper Valley, we serve beer and hard liquor. I didn’t take you as the hard liquor type.”
“I see,” I say, fishing inside my bag for my purse.
He holds his hand up when I produce a bill. “On the house. Consider it a welcome gift. Small town hospitality and all that.”
“Oh, thanks,” I say, picking up the beer in my left hand. “I’m Jade.”
He lifts his chin. “Kellen.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Kellen.”
“Likewise.” His eyes do a slow movement up and down my body before he adds, “Jade,” and I actually think I might self-combust just from looking at him. I mean, how does one man living in small-town USA have the right to be so goddamn sexy? He must have every woman in Whisper Valley eating out of the palm of his hand.
By the time I've calmed down enough to even consider responding, Kellen has moved on to serve another customer. Just as well, because I can't imagine it’d go down well with my date if he walked in and caught me lusting after the hot bartender.
Thankfully, I'm a little early, so the risk of that is minimal. Which gives me time to find myself an empty booth, go and take a seat and wait—of course choosing a position where I can watch the door and the bar equally. No harm in peeking at Kellen occasionally, right?
