“Nope.” She laughs. “Not everyone has a nickname, but if they do, it’s well earned.”
“Do you have one?”
“No.”
“Maybe I’ll come up with one for you.”
“I doubt it. I’ll be just over here.” She waves and walks off.
I inhale deeply and glance around. I’m not really sure where to start first, and I end up walking over to the bar.
“Hello, Allie’s friend,” Chance says.
“Hello, Chance.”
“Ah, you’ve been talking about me.”
“I think you figured that out from our looking your way.”
“Perhaps, perhaps. You can see a lot from behind this bar.” He looks me up and down. “What are you drinking?”
“Whatever you want me to drink, but I am eighteen.”
“Are you really?”
I nod.
“You look older,” he muses.
“How so?”
“Like you’ve lived through a lot more than you should’ve.”
“Honestly, that’s the truth. Fuck is that the truth.”
“So you could go for a stiff drink,” he says slowly.
“I’ll drink whatever it is that you want me to drink,” I repeat.
“Allie taught you well, but…”
“My taste buds have tasted alcohol before, if that’s what you’re getting at,” I say dryly.
“So you do want…”
“Alcohol or not, I’m good either way.”
“Gotcha.”
He starts to prepare a drink, and I turn away from the bar to observe the people again. On the outsider side is a couple. The girl is pointing upstairs, but the guy is shaking his head emphatically. Clearly, she wants to head on up to the club, but he doesn't want to. Maybe she should try to get him to drink some more, so he'll loosen up and change his mind.
“Here you go.” Chance plops a green drink in front of me and waits patiently.
I take a sip and then a long pull. “That’s delicious.”
“You like it?” he asks, sounding pleased.
To answer, I take another swallow and give him a thumbs up. If there's alcohol in it, I can't taste it, which could be very dangerous.