bar talk, a story

“How many drinks?” Davey asked pointing to the small-framed strawberry-haired and faced guy at the bar holding a Corona.

“No way,” Adam replied. “I’d have to be blacked out.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Davey said. “Two drinks and you’d be all over him like a pig in mud.”

“I’ve already had two drinks,” Adam said.

“Three then,” Davey pushed a beer across the tiny cocktail table. He turned to Hilary. “Have you seen the new cocktail server?” pointing her out amidst the sea of sloshed, singing sweatballs.

“No,” Hilary said, trying to get a look at her, stretching her neck out to see above dancing drunks with their hands raised.

“She’s totally your type,” Davey said while pulling on Hilary’s sweater so it would slug down in the center revealing a bit of cleavage. Hilary readjusted her sweater, tugging the lazy loose fabric up high around her neck again.

“What do you mean she’s my type?” Hilary asked.

“ ‘Cuz she’s straight,” Davey taunted. Adam, unable to help himself, chimed in with a little snicker.

Hilary shoved Davey harder than she meant to sending him barreling into a slew of skin-and-bone hipster kids.

“What the fuck, man,” one yelled. “Watch it!”

“I’m so sorry,” Davey oozed. “We were just guessing what everyone in this group’s favorite sex positions are. We kind of have a friendly bet going, so we were wondering if you’d all mind confirming.

“What did you guess about me?” asked a fake blond with a polka dot dress and screaming red lips.

“Easy,” said Davey. “Backwards cowgirl.”