“Maybe, but I’m not going to tell you again since you weren’t listening the first time!” Over-dramatic, she quickly chugs down the rest of her drink and slams down the cup, “Yes, I was bar hopping again. You know how my weekends go.”
I take a bite of my food before continuing, “Don’t you think you should ease up on going bar hopping?”
Eliza waves a fry at me then eats it, “We don’t do it as often as it sounds. I mean, we’ve done it for years, but once you go to the same ones over and over, it gets repetitive and dull.” She picks up another one and points it at me, “Now, if we had more company, everything would be peachy. When are you and Sam going to join us, Love?”
Eliza’s been dying to spend one night where it’s me, Sam, her, and her husband David all going out together and either trying out different bars together or settling down on one spot and staying there until we can’t stand being around people. She’s told me about all of the different people she’s met after doing it for so long; some of them amazing people while others were scumbags with the occasional boring stick-in-the-mud every now and then. As much as I like having a nice, cold drink at the end of the work week, and sometimes during the week, I’m not much for crowded places. As for Sam, she just hates loud places unless it’s related to something she enjoys.
Every time the talk for getting together comes up, it always ends with me saying something about me and Sam thinking it over but never actually going out to do it. However, I do know we’ll eventually go one of these days just to go and try it out, most likely because it’s on a weekend and we have nothing better to do.
“Well, that’s a shame,” Eliza says with a sigh. “Looks like I’ll have to find somebody else to join us.”
She starts examining the people walking in and out of the kitchen office, some men and some women. While most of them just come into the kitchen just for a plastic utensil, some linger around a bit longer to actually use the appliances, mostly the coffee maker and grabbing food that they labeled out of the fridge.
When another person goes into he fridge, Eliza inches a bit closer form her seat, laser focused on them; they’re leaning into the fridge, gently rocking their hips from side to side.
“Whoever that is, they have a really nice ass,” she points out. “I wonder who’s smacking it around?”
“Why do you assume that every person who has a nice figure in your eyes has to be sleeping with somebody or in a relationship?” I question. “Can’t a good looking person enjoy life single?”
Eliza shoots me a devilish glare from the corner of her eye, “Those are pretty big words coming from you, ‘Madame Four-Eyes.’ I remember you telling me about how you were asked out out a few times in high school.”
“Damn, I thought you’d forget that.”
After searching around in the fridge for a moment, the person stands back up. Before they even turn around so we can get a glimpse of their face, we already know who it is from seeing their frosted blue pigtails.