by Trevor Nelson

He fought through tangled couples to reach her. She sat alone, a smartphone illuminating her face.

“What’s up?” he said.

She grunted.

“Where’re your friends?”

“Ditched me,” she slurred.

He rattled the ice in her glass. “What’s this?”

She squinted over her phone. “Captain and Coke.”

“I got you.” He grinned, stomach fluttering.

Returning, he stirred her drink with a thin blue straw. A crushed pill dissolved in the vortex.

She smiled, accepted his gift. They clinked glasses. “Bottoms up.”

She guzzled her rum. “How long you plan on staying here?”

He checked his watch. “As long as it takes.”

Trevor Nelson lives and writes in Rockford, Illinois. You can find his prose and poetry strewn across the Internet if you look hard enough.