Page 74 of Last Letters to Ara
“Shit.”
“Today is his birthday.”
“Bigger shit.” I look up and find his eyes softer than before, just slightly. Looking less bored and more empathetic, as if there could be a whole other person under that exterior, just waiting for the right person to lure it out of him.
He studies me for a moment and then reaches out his hand. “I’m Ryder. How about I get that drink started?”
I shake his hand and nod.
“What do you usually drink?”
“Wine.” My mouth starts salivating as someone from the kitchen brings out my appetizers, placing them in front of me like my own personal feast.
“I think you need something a little stronger.”
“Then what can you recommend?” I’ve never had aproperdrink beyond wine or random mixtures at college parties.
“Leave it to me.” Ryder walks toward his fancy drink station and leaves me to dig into my food.
By the time he brings back my drink, I’ve scarfed down both my fried pickles and boneless wings. The drink looks more like a piece of art than something you could consume, and it’s so strong I can smell the alcohol from where he places it on the bar.
“Sex on the beach,” Ryder says, a slight intonation on the word beach so I don’t know whether it was a question or not.
“Excuse me?”
“The drink.” He smirks. A tattooed hand runs over his chin, making a pass over his lips, almost like he’s unaware of it. “It’s called Sex on the Beach.”
I’m a social invalid. “Right.”
Ryder chuckles, but it lacks mirth. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
And then, I start having Sex on the Beach, alone, courtesy of Ryder.
I can tell that he wasverygenerous with the amount of alcohol in this thing. I’ve heard that bars tend to water down the alcohol to increase profits, but Ryder has done no such thing. I’m only about five sips in before the lines between my grief and worry start to blur.
Six more sips and suddenly I notice there is music playing,goodmusic.
Seven more sips, and I’m swaying to the beat.
I’ve made it to the bottom of my drink and I’m quietly singing along, even though I don’t know the words.
Ryder appears in front of me with a pleased smirk, but it’s notthesmirk I’ve come to love from a certain someone. “I see that you liked the drink.”
“Yep, it was sooooo good.” For some reason, I giggle. I mentally register that nothing was funny, but I feel too far away to care. “Can you make me something else you think I’ll like?”
“Sure.” He makes me another one, but I give him a little pout when he places it in front of me. “Why are you pouting?”
“That glass iswaysmaller than the last one.”
“Try it and let me know if you’re still disappointed.”
I take a sip. This one is equally as strong and delicious as the last one, and not remotely disappointing. “What’s this one called?”
“Cosmopolitan.”
I take another sip. “Make sure you put these on my receipt so I can remember what they’re called for next time.”
“Sure thing.”
