On the night of my divorce

I tried to focus on the shot glass of tequila on the bar top in front of me, but somehow, my vision blurred in and out. I scoffed, knowing it was the numerous shots I'd already consumed that were affecting my vision. I rattled my wedding ring against the glass when tears rimmed my eyes—five years of my life ended abruptly with the finalized word Divorced. Five years of a life I thought we were building together. I'd always hated the gaudy ring. Ben's mother refused to give over his grandmother's ring because she thought he was making a mistake marrying me. I guess the woman was right.

The family ring debate never bothered me much until Ben proposed with this god-awful thing. It constantly got stuck on everything, and I swear it signaled a plane or two with the glare. But Ben had picked it himself, and at the time, I thought it showed how much he loved me. Now, I was wondering why I still had it on my finger. Was I still hoping that the man I'd been so sure I'd spend the rest of my life with would suddenly change his mind and we would still be married? No, that wasn't it. It had been years since I realized I wasn't truly in love with Ben. Was it a whirlwind romance my sister drools over in books and movies? No, I had done the safe thing. I'd built our relationship on respect, understanding, and gradual love. Ben and I dated for six months, married at a year, and kept our life together with dates and financial responsibility. I followed the road map to a successful marriage and life to a T.

I downed the shot before me, then yanked the tacky ring off my finger. I slammed it on the counter and tipped the glass over it. The irony of my wedding ring trapped under a glass enclosure as a metaphor for my marriage was not lost on me. I frowned at how sad and pathetic my marriage had been.

"One more!" I called out to the bartender, only to find the bar empty. I looked around the rest of the place to find it completely deserted. The bar had been an impulse decision, but I felt at home in the sporty decor and memorabilia on the walls. Something about tattered old vinyl booths and leather cushions around the worn oak bar triggered memories of my childhood and father. A bar just like this one was where my love of sports was planted. Years later, it was a place filled to the brim with people cheering, sparking my passion for hockey. And it was a bar top similar to the one my father broke his cancer secret, saying goodbye the only way he could. In my struggle to get away from the courthouse, it seemed fitting that I ended my marriage the same way as every other big event in my life: at a tacky sports-filled dive bar.

A stray tear rolled down my cheek. I swiped it away, and then, in a very unladylike fashion, my very southern mother would faint as I sniffled back all my grief in one loud gurgled inhale through my nose, swallowing down all the self-pity, regret, and anger. Drinking oneself into a stupor on a Wednesday night might not have been the best idea. I had only needed enough to take the edge off, yet the image of the relieved smile my husband--now ex-husband-- wore when the judge said, "You are officially divorced." kept the shots pouring down my throat. I spun on the stool a few times to chase away the drunken boredom, glancing at various sports displayed on the different-sized TVs. I wished someone would show up with more booze, but no one appeared behind the bar. With an annoyed grunt, I clumsily made my way behind the bar. I began to attempt to read the labels, but after a few moments of blurry words, I gave up and looked at the label design and bottle shape. I crouched lower to find the bottle the guy had pulled out.

"Ah ha! there you are, beautiful!" I grabbed the tequila bottle and stood up, doing a little victory shimmy.

"I'd prefer handsome or sexy." A smooth, manly voice said. I clutched the bottle into my chest and turned my gaze toward the voice. There on the seat I just occupied was the most gorgeous man i'd ever laid eyes on. I would've been startled if I wasn't teetering on too-far-gone drunk. "But for you, I guess I can be beautiful."

I focused on his icey baby blue eyes and felt a tightening in my core. I'd always been a sucker for baby blues. A fact which made my husband irate at times because he had brown eyes. It never bothered me when we were together. I loved his muddy brown eyes. But the blue eyes roaming my face now made butterflies erupt in my belly. I giggled at the stranger, "I meant the booze, but I will admit your eyes are quite beautiful."

The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement, making his swirly cobalt eyes gleam. Was I slurring my words? Probably. I sighed, "Yeah, any girl could get lost in those baby blues." He chuckled good-naturedly. Then, my foggy brain focused on how his lip turned up in a confident smirk. I thought, "Wow, you have extremely kissable lips."

The man licked his lower lip then gave another deep baritone chuckle that made my lady bits hum for more of that sound, "Thank you. So do you."

I blushed, realizing I had said that out loud. He laughed harder and pointed to the bottle in my hand, "Well, darling, can I get a shot of that, seeing as it's as beautiful as my eyes?"

I almost swooned at the velvety smoothness of his voice. This man could be a voice actor for smutty romance novels. The thought of that voice whispering sweetness into my ear burned my cheeks with heat. My eyes found his expectant ones again. Shit, what had he asked me? I took a moment to replay our conversation and realized he thought I was the bartender. I giggled awkwardly, "Oh! No, I don't work here."

His smile fell slightly, "So you're a thief then?"

I sobered at that and bristled with embarrassment, "OH MY GOD! No! I was going to ask for another shot, but the dude left, and I..." I trailed off, stupidly getting lost in my mind, staring at the bottle in my hand.

The man stared at me intensely, "So you decided to help yourself?"

I opened my mouth to continue, only to close it tight. I shrugged, too drunk to fully explain myself, and grabbed two glasses to sit before him.

"Yes, I promise I will pay for the bottle when he returns."

The man grinned widely, and a sense of familiarity washed over me. "I'm teasing you, but I will have a glass if you buy the rest of the bottle."

He grabbed the bottle from my hand, poured one glass half full, and pushed it toward me. Then he downed the other full glass he poured for himself. I admired the way his thick, muscular neck bobbed as he swallowed. I was far too turned on for a married woman; I should stop drinking. The sound of the judge's gavel pounding with the word divorced reminded me that I was no longer married. I was free to do what I wanted, and after not having any sex in over a year, I wanted this man. But more than anything else, I wanted to feel wanted. I grabbed the shot, brought it to my lips, and threw my head back. The burning liquid slid down my throat and warmed my belly. I stumbled around the bar and sat next to this incredibly handsome man. "So, why are you, handsome mystery man, here drinking tequila on a Wednesday night?"

"Oh, I wanted to celebrate. I just signed a very lucrative contract." The man poured another shot for himself but not me. I was unsure if I should be mad, but as the room started to spin, I laced my head in the palm of my hand and leaned on the bar for support. I knew I was done for now. There was a fire in his eyes that I didn't recognize as they slowly drank me in. Whatever that fire meant, I didn't care because it ignited that wanted feeling I so longed for.

"And why is such a gorgeous woman drinking alone in an empty bar on a Wednesday night?"

I smiled sadly, "I wanted to celebrate as well."

He leaned in close. His warm breath tickled my cheeks and made my eyes flutter, "Let's have a toast then!"

He then leaned across the counter, grabbed the water sprayer, and filled my shot glass with it before pouring his own with more tequila. I could feel the heat pooling in my core at the thought of a complete stranger taking more care of me than any other person had in years. I gripped the glass, raised it up, and, in an emotional voice, sang-sung, "To your success and to my freedom!"

"Hear, Hear!" the man tossed back his head, and I drooled over the way his Adam's apple bobbed. Our attention Drifted to the flat screen over the bar playing the local football team's away game. It was college ball, but soon, I was in a heated debate with this stranger over a flagged play.

"Mr. Baby-Blues, the replay clearly shows him out of bounds. Your opinion is irrelevant."

"You're as blind as the refs! They always miss shit; even with replay tech out there, players will exploit the lapse in coverage." He downed another shot. I glanced at the bottle, seeing it almost empty, and wondered how long we had been here. Now that I thought about it, I realized he hadn't refilled my glass with anything but water.

"Spoken like someone who played. Football jock? Peak in high school? Now salty with college ball. Damn shame."

His expression revealed an emotion that my fuzzy brain couldn't analyze. I laughed and nudged his shoulder. I let my gaze drop down his toned body, making it overly obvious I was checking him out. "Don't worry, whatever-your-name-is. You still got your looks.

His eyes returned to mine with wicked desire. "My name is--"

The bartender suddenly reappeared, eyeing both of us. The man sat back as if a spell had been broken.

"Um, customers are not allowed behind the bar area," the bartender murmured as if he hadn't disappeared for over two-quarters of the game. His eyes kept shifting between me and my mystery man.

I smiled innocently, "Sorry, My new friend here is impatient. I told him to wait for you, but he insisted he would buy the bottle."

"Did I now?" Mr. Baby-blues smiled wickedly before shaking his head in mock disappointment, "It's as this beautiful lady says."

He slowly pulls out his wallet with a sports logo that I recognize, but for my life, I cannot place and pay for the bottle. I get a huge whiff of his scent when he leans across the counter, and I swear I'm transported to a tropical island with a coconut-y smell. A fantasy of this man taking me hard against the warmth of a white sandy beach while I screamed his name in ecstasy almost had me moaning out loud. I didn't even know his name, let alone would ever scream it. The man sat back with a knowing smirk. I bit my lip, wondering when I last wanted anyone as much as I wanted this man right now. As if he could read my filthy mind, he leaned in so his lips were next to my ear, "Alright, you little thief, how about we get out of here?"

I open my mouth to say, Sorry, I'm married, but the words stop short. I was no longer tied to my ex-husband. Nothing stopped me from acting on my desire for the first time in years. I chewed the inside of my cheek to prevent any more tears over that selfish asshole. I let my eyes roam over this man's frame. He was gorgeous. I seductively whispered, "Let's see how kissable these lips really are."