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“I’ll have a mojito with extra mint,” Amy tells the bartender.
“Coke,” I answer when he turns to me.
“With rum, vodka, Jack?” he asks.
“Straight Coke.”
“You could’ve ordered a real drink,” Amy says. “He didn’t ask for ID.”
“I like Coke.”
I hope this JD Lee shows up soon as I consider how late it’ll be when I make it back home.
Amy presses a finger to her eyelid. “I think one of my lashes is coming off. I’m going to find the restroom. Be back in a minute.”
I watch her hop off the stool as the bartender sets our drinks down.
“Straight Coke,” he says with a smile. He seems like a nice guy and the only one in the place who hasn’t given me a skeptical look.
“Thanks.”
A glass of soda at a place like this probably costs ten times what I’d pay from a vending machine. I sip the Coke slowly to make it last longer. Besides, I need the drink to distract me from the looks I’m getting.
