5:27 pm.
The Girl walks up the stairs. She places her beaded indigo bag on the counter, grabs a barstool, makes herself comfortable.
The afternoon sun beams on her back. Her champagne silk tank sticks to her dewy skin.
The air is still- she begins sweating.
Her shorts grow tight. Her thighs slowly swallow the raw denim.
The Bartender on duty turns around.
What can I get started for you he chimes with a wide smile, forehead dripping in sweat from the hottest day on record. A black bandana covers his hairline.
Overworked, his tired eyes widen with a new patron sitting in front of him. He studies her balmy complexion.
She smiles without reason.
Still looking for now, thanks she says to the menu instead of him.
Tired Eyes is our most popular drinkclaims the Bartender, prepping his ingredients, having already decided what he’s making her.
They lock eyes- her vision shifts towards his full lips. Facial hair traces around his pout.
The Girl begins to feel warm in places other than her sun-exposed skin.
She inspects him as he makes the concoction.
A cold cocktail mixer begins to defrost in the Bartender’s hands. He grips it firmly and presses mint into the bottom. Sweat beads form around his temples as he squeezes fresh lemon juice in the metal abyss.
Some squirts onto her arm and she grins, moves back a bit.
He smirks, doesn’t look at her, too busy pretending to concentrate on mixing his beverage.
He eyeballs two shots of Bourbon.
Tired Eyes, huh the Girl thinks to herself, chuckling out loud.
She wipes the juice off her arm with her index finger and gives it a taste. Loud enough for him to hear.
His smirk grows.
He adds a splash of ginger liqueur, a splatter of soda water. From beneath the counter he pulls out a jar of honey.
You won’t find this quality anywhere else, comes from the owner’s backyard. He swears it’s an aphrodisiacthe Bartender makes sure to stare at her before he pours the delicacy into the concoction, like two kids forming their own science experiment.
Down the hatch the thick and glossy substance goes.
The Girl sucks onto her bottom lip with fascination and thirst.
The honey slowly drizzles into the mixer, the Bartender letting the last bit of it drip down the spoon as he watches the Girl focus on the steady flow.
The Bartender twists the metal lid on and begins swiftly shaking everything together.
He pulls a chilled glass from the freezer.
The lid pops off, but before he pours the final product into the glass, he gives it a taste test.
He tilts his head back, makes sure all of the flavor is sucked out, smacks the elements around with his tongue, loud enough for the Girl to hear.
He nods with satisfaction.
She watches in amazement- and arousal.
He looks down, purses his full lips; a dimple appears.
He begins to pour. This, this is the best one I’ve made in a fucking long tine, I’ll have you know the Bartender exudes with conviction.
I only make it this well for my special customersthe Bartender explains as he places the drink in front of her, eyes now glued to her glowing frame.
The Girl’s getting warmer.
Her back is arched.
She’s nearly hanging over the bar, intoxicated from his show.
Her entire body is tingling and she’s not even drunk yet.
The Bartender cements the chilled drink onto the wooden counter in front of her. His hands are soaked from the process. Masculine. Coarse. Veined.
Placing it down with assertion, they lock eyes one last time. His cheeks are flush.
Tired Eyes, cheersthe Bartender hushes without blinking.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ldj846/tired_eyes_mf