no other choice. Besides, it's just a couple of harmless hours. If Ben is allowed to be out and about and he is Michael’s best man, then I don’t see what the big deal is.
“Alright, I will be there in twenty minutes” I say and flip my suitcase shut.
“Awe Megan, you’re the best”
I haven’t been out for so long; I have forgotten what a bar looks like on a Friday night. Leave it to Ben to pick the least romantic setting for a first date. I’m sure who ever this mystery girl was, she must have taken one look at this place, turned around, walked out the door and thought, what a chump. I push through the crowd of people, and see Ben sitting alone at the bar. He is wearing a backwards baseball cap and a tight fitting solid black t-shirt that emphasises his muscular build. He smiles when he sees me, and ushers me into the chair beside him.
“Whoa” I choke from inhaling his cologne, and fan my hand in front of my face, “Are you sure she didn’t leave after she got a good whiff of you?”
“I thought the ladies liked a man who smelled good?” Ben smiles and takes a sip of his rum and coke, then proceeds to wave over the bartender, “Can you get her a vodka water please?”
The bartender smiles at him, and flicks her bleach blonde hair to the side, “Sure thing buttercup.”
She bends down in front of us and pulls out the vodka from the bar rail. Her huge melons pour out of her teeny tiny t-shirt and I catch Ben staring down at them.
“What?” He laughs, caught red handed.
“You're disgusting,” I whisper only half joking.
“Come on Megan, what do you expect? I’m a guy.” He leans back in his chair and reaches across the bar to pull over a vacated menu, “What are you in the mood for?”
“Pretty much anything.” I shift uncomfortably on the wooden bar stool.
“Really? Anything?” Ben raises his eyebrows.
The bartender returns and slides me my drink, and uses this as her opportunity to wink at Ben. He basks in the attention, and gives me a smug grin. “Okay, how about I get us some wings and nachos.”
“Sure thing buttercup,” I sarcastically snort and take a sip of my stiff drink. Ben rolls his big brown eyes at me and relays our order to the bartender. I feel my phone vibrate in my purse, so I pick it up and see Jessica has sent me a text.
See you in 11 hours! Can’t wait!
I giggle and flash my text from Jessica at Ben, “The countdown is on.” I say in a singsong voice.
Ben chuckles and swirls his drink, “Can you believe they are actually getting married? They have been together since we were fourteen. Who even does that?”
He enjoys his last gulp of rum and proceeds to wave down the trampy bartender for another.
“Well, they are in love” I tease, because I know Ben and I are not on the same page about this. He doesn’t believe in love, while I differ that love does exist. It just requires a prenuptial agreement. Unfortunately for us, our outlook on love may be the exact reason why we are both still single on the brink of our twenty-fifth year.
“Oh please” he moans, “Their sex life must be so vanilla.”
“Well at least they are getting some, even if it is vanilla.” I laugh.
When Ben doesn’t reciprocate a chuckle, it quickly becomes silent between us. We glance away from each other and take a long sip from our drinks. I know we are both experiencing a dry season in that department. I am going on six months, while he is probably only on a measly thirty days, but still.
The bartender returns with another round of drinks and our food. We eat in silence, inhaling our cheap bar garble. I watch Ben eat like a caveman and get wing sauce all over his face and fingertips. When I tell him he looks ridiculous, he chomps down into a drumstick and goofily smears his sauced fingers over my cheek. I gasp and I retaliate by shoving a pile of nachos in his face. We both burst out laughing and the song “You’re my Best Friend” by Queen just happens to fill the bar. I can’t help but think over the past couple of years Ben has truly taken the place of Jessica. Especially once Michael and she moved out of the city and into