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She shouldn't have come. This is a bad idea. Isabelle sighs. The realization that she has no one else to blame but herself hits her in the face. Some small talk and a drink with the staff have their limits. Time to leave. The bartender flashes her a smile before tending to another customer. She twists the ring in her hand, playing around with it.
She checks her phone one last time, ready to leave the counter. No replies, no calls. Damn. The sheer annoyance rising up in her chest makes her clench her fists. Isabelle wasted time and effort showing up here. Now, she looks like a fool. That despicable group is probably laughing among themselves, making fun of her.
A sidelong glance spies a man, now sitting beside her. Isabelle stops dead in her tracks, taking in the scent of his cologne. She recognizes this scent. Dubbed as Musk, the high-end cologne made for men. Also the product a rather flashy friend of hers is currently endorsing.
"It's you." She said.
His fair complexion contrasts nicely with his all-black outfit, plus a leather jacket. The bar lights slowly change from a bright yellow to a soft blue. He brushes his arms against her, playfully nudging her arm. He buys her a drink and winks with a smile. Isabelle scoffs, a smile on her lips. Like that'd work, idiot.
"Care for a conversation, hon?" He leans in. A goofy, half-awake smile. Isabelle rolls her eyes and looks away with a smile on her lips.
Even when half sober, he manages to be a complete charmer. She'd have time to worry about that later. To anyone else eavesdropping, he sounds like a perverted creep. Not that she'd defend him, he's caused trouble before. But it would be cruel to leave him.
"It's good to see you, Tristan," Isabelle said. Her low energy from earlier is quickly forgotten, now bustling with a calm happiness.
Finally, someone she knows. He's not sober but that's not a problem.
"Have we... met? You seem... familiar..." Tristan grips the countertop with his hands, squinting at his surroundings. Oh, he's in for a shock.
"I believe this isn't the first time we've met. Tristan." Isabelle giggles.
How convenient to run into him now, of all nights. Just as she began to feel bad about herself, he suddenly shows up! Like a knight in shining armor. He's a short knight, but that adds to his charm. If it weren't for her heels, they'd be on equal footing. Literally.
"Is it? I thought we... shared a bed." He downs his drink. Isabelle keeps her eyes on his mouth as alcohol trickles down his chin. Gross.
He hasn't changed much from high school, after all. Perhaps even in old age, he'd throw around such comments.
Isabelle laughs, tucking a strand of stray hair behind her ear. With Tristan around, no pest would be hovering around her now. The bartender places two glasses in front of them and pours a clear liquid. He hands one to her. Vodka? She scrunches her nose in distaste and sets it aside.
At this point, going home would have to wait. It is an unspoken rule to never leave your drunken buddy to drink all alone. That and who knows what ditch he'd wake up in.
"Is this strong?" She points at an item and leans over the counter. The bartender's face flushes, he nods and looks away. How cute.
"Yes, do tell us more about it,"
Tristan leans on her shoulder, struggling to keep his head up. The last time she let him lean on her, he stained her favorite pair of high heels. Isabelle ruffles his hair and pushes his head off. He makes a poor attempt of swatting her hand away, slapping the counter instead.
Isabelle chuckles, biting her lip.
Should she take a video? No, that'd be cruel. The tabloids have enough footage of him, anyway.
"You've had too much to drink," She taps his nose. Tristan furrows his eyebrows and rubs the nape of his neck. Isabelle wipes his chin, slowly making her way to the collar of his button-down. Tristan crosses his legs immediately.
She snorts, pinching his arm.
"Tell me something I don't know." He grumbles, chuckling to himself. She follows his line of sight, checking out a young man making small talk with another. As stupid he may be, he's got good taste.
No matter, he's had too much. Any more drinks and they'd end up at the hospital for alcohol poisoning. She finishes the drink and gags. The burning, mildly bitter flavor makes her flinch. Disgusting. Tristan rips off his jacket and puts it on her shoulders. Isabelle clicks her tongue, ready to retort only to get cut off.
"No... look. You." Tristan slurs, trying to use the zipper.
Was he trying to cover her up? How sweet of him. Too bad, she didn't wear this dress just to hide. She folds her arms within the jacket, still warm. It's thicker than she expected. Isabelle silently watches him fumble with the buttons, although he buttoned it wrong, it covers her mini dress.
Even when drunk, he still looks out for her. She places her hand over her heart and pecks his cheek.
"Thank you, Tannie."
Good little knight-boy! He slurs a name, his knuckle white against the counter. Isabelle sighs. She shakes her head. Okay, he's lost it. Her cue to leave. She gives a tight-lipped smile and spun on her heels, his jacket still on her shoulders. It smells just like him, a thick mint smell with smoke.
Tristan reclines on the bar stool as he takes another shot. He runs a hand through his hair
and takes a deep breath. The bartender clears his throat and points at the door. He tends to the counter while whistling a merry tune.
"Shit!" Tristan exclaims. He groggily hands cash to the bartender before running after her. She dashes into her car, careful not to attract his attention. He stumbles, calling out in a language she does not recognize.
She just wanted to leave without him knowing. Less drama, more driving. Isabelle silently observes him. She knows he wouldn't get wasted for the heck of it. Another breakup?
Tristan reaches out. He stumbles and lands in a puddle, his slacks now soaking wet. He groans, sprawled out on the ground. She shouldn't be enjoying this, snickering to herself as he's.. well, getting what he deserves. He had it coming.
Isabelle grips the steering wheel. She starts the engine only to turn it off, being a witness to his sorry state. This isn't right. What if he gets robbed?
She slams the door and kicks a stray can as hard as she is capable. Tristan ought to get her one big gift box as gratitude, or she'd be furious. He'll come to his senses, treat her to a cute café with a token of gratitude and it better be that bag she had her eyes on for ages.
She stomps towards him and pokes his leg with a small stick she found nearby.
"Are you dead?" She asked. If he didn't respond, she'd have to call for help. He opens his eyes and raises his arm to the sky.
"I.. hope so." He sighed.
"Dumbass." Isabelle states. She dusts herself off and offers a hand. He pulls her in, causing Isabelle to lose balance and fall atop of him. He smells strongly of alcohol and cigarettes. She clenches her fists, her face red with anger.
Oh, delightful.
"This is nice." His hot breath tickles her ear. She flicks his forehead. How she'd love to leave him be. She doesn't understand how she wanted to leave him, yet stay. If they switched places, would he do the same or worse?
Whatever. This isn't the time for idle thoughts.
"Get up!" Isabelle shouted as she slaps his cheeks. Hearing no audible response, she rolls her eyes and roughly drags him by the shoulders to the nearest wall. He mumbles words she couldn't make out. Isabelle huffs. She fishes his pockets for his phone, earning a reaction from him.
"Hey! We can't do that... here!" Tristan hugs himself and tries to inch away from her. Isabelle slaps his arm, her lips pressed together. She finds five missed calls from an unregistered contact and a message. No idea what his password is. Whomever they are, they'd have to be his rescue for tonight.
"No! You're my friend!" He cries, covering his face.
Isabelle sighed. It's gotten this bad. He's totally wasted. He'd normally make stupid, flirty comments. It makes her wonder what exactly their relationship is.
Open, playful flirty jokes tossed back and forth but they're good friends. He knows too much to back out of the friendship now.
"Damn... feisty!" Tristan grins, smiling to himself with his eyes closed. His expression reminds her of a fox, about to drift to sleep. Nevermind, he's fine. Isabelle places the back of her hand on his neck. He's burning up.
"Are you feeling all right?" Isabelle wipes beads of sweat off his face. The answer is clear, talking is her attempt to keep him from falling asleep.
"You make me feel good!" Tristan cups his face with his hands. Isabelle rolls her eyes. Her worries were for nothing.
She dials the most frequent name on his call log, Stephen, but receives no answer. She sent a text explaining what happened. Now what? She couldn't exactly carry him alone, nor did she know anyone else here. The bartender, Allen, is busy. Just as Isabelle racks her brain cells, trying to come up with an answer, Tristan's phone goes off.
"Hello? Tristan?"
Hello, handsome. Isabelle doesn't recognize this voice. Is this Stephen? He sounds much older. He can't be an Uncle or relative, she met most of them already.
"He's... asleep. Can you come to pick him up? He isn't sober." She explains. Ah, he could just be a friend. Maybe a neighbor? Asking Tristan won't do much. He'd make up a story and run with it. She should have just called his girlfriend or his boyfriend, but Isabelle isn't sure which name to call. She may end up calling a workmate of his and that's embarrassing.
"Yes, of course. I'll be there."
After half an hour, he arrives. Isabelle drapes the jacket over the blonde, now fast asleep, before facing the newcomer.
To say he's charming is an understatement. He owns the room just by walking in.
He's much more mature and lean, wearing only a gray hoodie and jeans. Unlike Tristan, he has a nice tan, thick eyelashes, and warm brown eyes. She keeps the staring to a minimum. Isabelle doesn't want to come across as some weirdo.
"Nice to meet you." Isabelle squares her shoulders.
How is this hunk acquainted with Tristan? She doesn't recall meeting him before. He smiles in response, cupping her delicate hands into his. Goodness, his hands were soft. And that face! His outfit is simple, but how did he make it look expensive?
"Isabelle, thank you. I apologize we had to meet under this... situation." His voice is lusciously deep. That phone call from earlier didn't do him any justice. Isabelle returns the gesture, feeling conscious of herself. He spoke like a gentleman.
She wishes his attitude would rub off of Tristan more. He'd act less like a drunken fool and less like himself if he did, though.
Stephen's eyes fall on him, now lying down on the pavement. She watches his attempts at waking their friend. Tall, kind and handsome. Stephen fits that description to a T. She doesn't see the resemblance.
"Now he decides to sleep." Isabelle huffs. He carries Tristan on his back with ease. She silently gushes at the sight, trying to sneak a picture. How sweet!
"Do you...mind if I?" Stephen motions to a car nearby then to Tristan on his back. She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and nods. If only she could switch spots with Tristan right now. There didn't seem to be any other option, honestly.
"Where are your keys?" She asked, walking beside him. He stops in his tracks. Isabelle can't wait to send the picture to Chloe once she got home. No! She doesn't have permission. Just a personal keepsake then.
"My... back pocket, I believe." Stephen furrows his eyebrows and looks around. Isabelle stuck her hand in his pocket, feeling much tighter than she expected. The thin material didn't help. She wiggles her hand around. It feels nice. Comparing her frame to his, she's a midget. Even with heels, she barely reaches his shoulders.
"You may remove your hand." Stephen chuckles. She rubs her wrist, his car keys in her hand. Isabelle saw an opportunity and took it. She makes a mental note to remember this.
"I'm sorry."
She presses a button, a red Chevrolet lights up. She shouldn't have done that. Now she'd come across as some creep! No brownie points now. She opens the car and helps Tristan into the backseat. Stephen starts the engine and turns off the radio.
"I'd like to give you a lift, Isabelle." Stephen opens the door for her. Isabelle raises her hands. Oh, handsome and kind? She must be dreaming. No, not after what she did. That'd be shameless.
"It's all right! Really. I brought my car." Isabelle smiles sheepishly. Damn it, she shouldn't have. How would she stall? Pretend to feel sick? She racks her brain for ideas.
"I see. In that case..." Stephen pulls out a pen and scribbles onto a small piece of paper. He faces Isabelle and places a folded silk handkerchief in her hands. She looks at him in confusion. Is this his lawyer's details? Will he sue her? Is she going to disappear without a trace? Isabelle swallows slowly.
What if he's some super rich and powerful guy and will try to kidnap her? No way. Tristan wouldn't be friends with someone like that.
Probably.
"Thank you, Isabelle. Take care." Stephen said. Wait, what? She nods. She watches their car drive off before getting into her own.
She stares at her hand. Did that just happen? She covers her face with her hands and squeals.
Isabelle holds the hankie to her face, taking in the smell of faint sandalwood. A piece of paper falls out of the hankie and onto her lap. She skims it and sighs, caught in a daydream. Oh, he's her type all right.
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