I'm sitting at the bar, sipping my IPA and watching him scurry around the place like he's doing a physical challenge on Double Dare. He's snapping up beer bottles, stacking pint glasses, and weaving between patrons without breaking a sweat. He's like a bumble bee genius on speed and holy hell, is that hot.
The faster he cuts limes, the faster my heart beats. Long story short: I'm in love. Red cartoon hearts radiate out of my green eyes, which are fixated on him.
There is something about a hot barback that stimulates a primal nerve center in the back of my brain. This is the sexiest thing a guy carrying a plastic tub of ice can do!
The best part is that he's totally oblivious to me eyebanging him. This is terrific news because I can stare at him without feeling too weird about it. In fact, his oblivion is a blessing. I'm basically staring at the David scrubbing shot glasses at a dive bar.
Oh shit! He's coming over to talk to me. I bat my eyelashes. I sit up straight. I twirl my hair around my finger.
"Hey, are you finished with your beer?"
Well, that figures.