Little Talks Part 1: Playing Through

The first in a series of short stories about a relationship starring a fictional couple who live rent-free in Scott’s head.

“Who ever told you Tito’s was part of a complete breakfast?” she says as she turns the corner into the kitchen to find me pouring the main ingredient to my first drink of the day at approximately 10:30 in the morning. “Little early, isn’t it?”

Somewhat surprisingly there’s not a lot of shock in her tone. It’s more like she’s ribbing me a little bit, if I had to choose a word — mostly fucking with me but with a tinge of judgment and maybe the tiniest bit of worry as I reach into the fridge for the bottle of seltzer from the knock-off SodaStream. (At least I’m reducing my footprint by not using the somewhat shocking amount of cans I could to accommodate my vodka/soda vice.)

“I would have predicted an orange juice mixer at this hour,” she says as she’s buttoning up her shirt. She looks amazing. Slightly disheveled in the best possible ways, while I am standing there clad only in my glasses, a pair of washed-out boxer briefs and a T-shirt from a college I didn’t even go to. And with a handle of booze in my hand that will likely be the heaviest thing I lift through the day unless at some point we end up going back to bed.