Two women meet at a bar, and their emotions swirl as the night drags on.

Inspired by an Inktober prompt.

I wanted to write a plain and simple meetcute between two women. That's all. ❤️

Download the PDF version below.

SPELL_ConcordiaJack

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 They make eye contact.

 Awkward, cringey, heart-fluttering eye contact.

 It takes all of a single second for grey eyes to meet amber ones across the bar, and another for their heads to turn away. One woman turns back to her friends, laughing along to a joke she didn’t hear, playing it off like it was an accident, a mistake. She raises her shot glass with her companions and knocks it back like a pro. They’re like a pack of hyenas: loud, obnoxious, and prone to uninhibited roars of laughter. Her eyes are always searching though — searching for the woman with amber eyes.

 As her black ponytail spills over her shoulder, the other woman stares down into her dark brown drink, swirling it around for a moment before taking a sip. The alcohol burns her throat, but not in an altogether unpleasant way. She’d prefer a glass of red wine, but figured the cheap whiskey would be more appropriate for a dimly-lit dive bar. The music is loud and overbearing, with shitty rock music playing over equally-bad speakers. Too many strangers. Too many judgmental eyes. Why’d she even come?

 She dares to look up.

 Their eyes meet again, but this time, she doesn’t relent. She lets herself get lost in those cloudy grey irises, daring her to do the same. The redhead offers a gentle smile, rising above the level of her rowdy friends for a moment. She mouths something incomprehensible, winks, and soon rejoins her group. No more sneaky glances. No more shy looks.

 That’s all, then.

 Her amber eyes fall to the brown drink again, taking a hard look at herself through the dark liquid. A few gentle swirls, and her reflection disappears behind cresting waves. Leaning against her cheek, she raises the whiskey glass and knocks it back. She can’t help but look up again, yet finds nothing — no *one* — staring back at her.

 Idiot. She sighs, slamming the whiskey glass onto the bar counter.

 “Hey.”

 Suppressing a gasp, she takes a sharp breath and turns to the side. The redheaded woman holds out a glass by the stem — a dark red wine. Her other hand lightly grips the base of a freshly opened beer bottle, probably a strong IPA, judging by how easily she could knock back shots.

 “You looked like you could use a better drink.” She leans against the counter and sets her beer down with a playful grin.
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