Inside the dimly lit tavern Ian sits quietly in his usual booth at the back of the bar room, in a dark corner, as he usually does on Friday nights looking for something to get into; yet, on this particular one, nursing his second beer, he eyes a rarity ever seen in the dingy little place. Someone new. Not just anyone new, a beautiful red-head with a tempting beauty; she’s unique here, wealthy, although trying to dress down in an old pair of yoga leggings and little jewelry, a pair of hoop earrings and a simple gold bracelet, the aura of privilege sticks out in a dirty place like this. She must be trying to get away from…something. He watches her shoot tequila, chasing it with beer, and suddenly had the urge to have her.
Ian slides from the booth, and as he makes his way to the woman he surveys the surroundings, taking note of a group of women in the corner and a few men scattered among the other booths; the regulars, no-one to worry about.
At the bar Ian slips into the stool next to the red-head and waves to the bartender, signaling him to bring him a round of drinks. The bartender, a muscular fellow with slicked back greasy hair and a sleeve to tattoos up each arm, probably done in prison, gives Ian a look of familiarity and a head nod as he sets a shot of tequila and a beer in front of him and the woman.
The red-head snatches up the little shot glass, raises it to Ian and with a slur says, “Thank ya.”
“You’re welcome,” Ian smiles, taps her glass with his and together knock their drinks back. He shakes off the sting of the tequila, extends his hand, “Ian.”
The red-head is hesitant, looking first to his faded and torn, not fashionably, jeans, then to his dirty-blonde pony tail; she shrugs, places her hand in his, “Jeanie.”
“So, Jeanie, if I rub your bottom would you grant me three wishes?” He grins.
“Bottle…” Ian feins embarassement, “I meant bottle. Like genie in a bottle.”
“Oh,” Jeanie giggles. “I get it.”
Ian takes a swig from his beer and recovers, “So, hard day?”
“Nooo…yesss,” she laughs. “Don’ wanna talk; jus’ drink.”
The greasy bartender set a couple more shots before them, and again, they quickly disposed of them.
After about an hour of slamming shots and guzzling brew, Ian begins to notice that Jeanie is almost too intoxicated, almost to the point of being unable to properly prohibit; he knows that she is no longer safe in a place like this, like that. A place of mongrels and beasts, the worst predators in the world can offer, including himself; Jeanie has no idea how bad this night could actually turn out for her.
Out of the blue the song ‘Havana’ by Camila Cabello starts playing, an odd tune in a dive bar; this causes Jeanie to knock off her heels and stumble from the bar stool, blurting, “Thiss’s my soong!” heading out to dance.
Ian soon realizes why the song is playing.
It only takes a few minutes of jumping and dancing, probably causing the alcohol to swish around in Jeanie’s stomach, and she crumbles to her knees, vomit shooting from her. Ian looks up to see a bald man with a grungy beard headed toward the inebriated Jeanie, causing him to sprint across the room, push the burly man in the chest and postures, “I got her. She’s fine; with me.”
The bearded man balls his fists, contemplating; shakes his head and backs down, walking away, knowing better.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Ian bends down and lifts Jeanie from the floor, throwing one of her arms around his neck, “before something really bad happens.”
They walk, more like he walks while dragging her with him, to the bar where he picks her phone up and orders them an Uber; he then collects her heels and purse from the floor and takes her outside.
While waiting, Jeanie leans against the brick wall of the bar, bent over, continuing to vomit periodically as Ian holds her hair out of the way. “I’mm surry,” Jeanie murmers, “soo surry,” and vomits again.
“It’s okay.” Ian assures, “Everything’ll be okay.”
On the ride to Jeanie’s house she passed out, her head in Ian’s lap, he starts to regret picking up a woman so drunk, she probably won’t even remember him in the morning.
He sees the driver giving him a disgusted look in the rear-view mirror, and all he could was smile; he knows how it looks.
It takes fifteen minutes to arrive, and the car pulls into a driveway; sitting back a little from the street Ian sees a nice two-story Victorian-style house. He knew she was well-off when he saw her, but who knew?
He tries shaking her awake, although Jeanie moves slightly, she remains asleep. Ian turns to the driver, “Wait here; I’m going to take her in and put her to bed. I won’t be long.”
The driver sighs, “Whatever.”
Ian steps from the car, ducks back and cradles Jeanie in his arms; he picks her up and carries her toward the front of the house. Finding the door locked, he sits her down against the door and searches her purse where he finds her keys. It took him a few tries but he eventually gets the door unlocked and opens it.
He again picks Jeanie up and carries her inside; just inside the door Ian sees a staircase and figures her bedroom is up them, so that’s where he takes her. At the top he opens the first door to his right and finds a bathroom; he’s a little annoyed, because though a small woman Jeanie’s starting to get a little heavy. He opens the next door and finds a bedroom, relieved, Ian moves inside and hurriedly places her on the bed.
He sets her shoes and purse in a chair located near a window at the rear of the room. He turns, and can’t help have his attention drawn to how beautiful she looks in her sleep, then notices a significant amount of vomit on her pants; he gently slides them off, folds them and places them with the rest of her things.
Ian eyes a crocheted quilt draped over the foot of the bed, picks it up and covers Jeanie; he then decides to leave a note on her phone, to put her mind at ease.
You had gotten really drunk, and so I made sure you got home okay. Also, sorry I took your pants off, but I didn’t want you to get vomit everywhere. DON’T WORRY, NOTHNG HAPPENED!!!
I would really like to take you on a proper date sometime, if that’s okay. – Ian
Ian set the phone on the nightstand and leaves the room. He walks down the stairs, out of the house, locking the door behind him, and gets back into the Uber that is surprisingly still waiting.
The driver looks at him curiously; Ian laughs “Take me home.”