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He leaves the martinis, and as he turns to walk back to the bar, he says, “You'll change your mind.”
I mutter under my breath, “Not in a million years.” But I reach for the drinks and help myself.
That was probably a stupid move. But I feel like taking my frustration out on someone, and this guy is the only one here.
When Race returns, and I tell him what just happened, he sizes the man up with a glint in his eye.
“Do you think he assumed I’m gay? I could be your boyfriend for all he knows.”
Race and I bust a gut over that. I slide one of the martinis over to him, and we toast. I sip mine, ruminating on the idiocy of men.
“That’s the problem with these big business-type men,” I yell. “They rule the corporate world and board rooms and think they can enter a bar and rule the women in it. I bet Brando is just like that guy, thinking he can buy anything he wants, including women.”
I toss back the last of my martini, and Race nods in agreement. I see the waitress coming to the table with two more martinis we did not order.
I groan. “This guy just cannot take no for an answer.”
Well, if he’s going to send the drinks, we will drink them. This time, I down my drink in one swallow. I tip the empty glass in the businessman’s direction and then lean into Race.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I say. Race gives me a thumbs up, nodding his head to the music.
On my way back from the restroom, the man who was sending me drinks is waiting. He grabs my arm and gets in my face. He’s solidly drunk now. I shouldn’t have accepted all those martinis, but I couldn’t help myself. It was too convenient to blame him for the woes of the world after the shitty day I had.
I could have anticipated it would end this way.
Which is why women like to go to the bathroom in packs. There’s strength in numbers.
I try to pull my arm out of his grip, but he’s got a tight hold. I lean away from his rancid breath and spittle.
“Let go of me!” I yell at him over the noise of the bar.
“Come on, just have a drink with me, and you'll see what a great guy I am.” He's leaning in and murmurs in my ear, “Once you've had a taste of me, you won't want anyone else.”
He snorts at his lame joke.
I throw up a little in my mouth and grab his fingers in an attempt to peel them away from my arm to no avail. I yank hard, though it's futile. Race notices us, and he quickly makes his way through the crowd.
“Dude, get your hands off my girlfriend.”
Race is masculine and big, with a deep voice and broad shoulders.
The man loosens his grip on my arm and looks incredulously at Race.
“Come on, I know she's not your girlfriend.” His voice is dismissive. “She wants a real man, not some twinkle toes fairy.”
He laughs and pulls me closer. I finally manage to yank my arm away when his grasp loosens for a second, and I step back. Race gets in his face, and the man pulls back and attempts to punch him. The guy is too drunk and misses his face, hitting Race in the shoulder.
“That was the weakest punch I have ever seen in my life. And you call me twinkle toes! Words are spells, my friend, didn’t you know?”
The man shoves Race, who bumps into me. Race grabs the man by the collar and thrusts him back. They struggle, bumping into people and spilling drinks until the bouncer comes over and grabs the businessman by the back of his suit jacket.
“Let's go, douchebag.”
And with that, the bouncer hauls him out of the bar while the man yells, “You don't know what you're missing!”
I laugh as he stumbles while being dragged toward the exit.
The crowd dies down, and Race and I look at each other, wild-eyed and hearts racing. What the hell was that?
