I sat there trying not to eat the fattened olives in my martini. (I always think men look funny eating their drink garnishes)
I could feel you next to me, the heat of you, the smell of your cologne, and your leg was so close to mine, I felt as though they might touch at any minute and I might be embarassed about how hot I was.
I was halfway in by the time you looked over smiling and asked “how are you?”
I wanted to break down, tell you that I am a wreck, that my father died just days earlier and that this vacation couldn’t have come at a worse time but you smell like him and sound like him and I want nothing more than to take you up to my room and have you hug me...but instead I just said “I’m fine thanks”.
I hurriedly finished my drink with the olives intact, charged it to my room and left without looking at you again.
Back in Los Angeles, I am sitting at the same hotel bar, with the same drink and same bartender, wondering what would have happened if I just would have revealed the truth.