The Past

Benji

Charlie made a mean martini—and I wasn’t a guy who drank them often.

Or at all.

I preferred a glass of whiskey or something simple. A one ingredient kind of cocktail. But her martini was something to be rivaled and I enjoyed every sip of it.

Except, I passed off my olives to her.

I liked watching her pop them in her mouth. And I liked how she chewed. In fact I liked everything she did.

How she walked. How she talked. How she giggled in an almost reserved sort of way.

We sat at the bar together and enjoyed our drinks and chatted about all sorts of things that didn’t really matter. Surface level things. Like how the evening went, how annoying Mason and my sister were when they were being lovey-dovey, and we even cracked a few jokes at the expense of the guy Charlie had decked earlier.

“You should see if you can get a doctor to look at that hand of yours in the morning,” I said, as I finished my drink. “Just to be safe.”

Charlie shook her head. “No. I’m alright. I swear. This isn’t