This is definitely not my scene, Anna thought as a raging headache settled in nicely at the back of her skull. The music drummed so loud in her ears that she thought if she frequented here often enough, she was sure to have an auditory deficit by the time she reached forty.

She was so not looking forward to midnight, but here she was, in a nightclub, with midnight itself clearly approaching faster than Lighting McQueen. And then she would officially turn thirty. Yay! And to top it all off, the argument with the bartender over her desire—no need—for one alcoholic drink wasn’t helping either.

Oh, heaven help her! Was it too much to ask? She wasn’t asking to conquer the world. It was one drink, one small, bloody drink. Dear Mother and Father, please forgive me for swearing like this, but this is just too damn much. She was on the verge of bursting into tears again. It was her goddamn birthday, for Christ sake, so just let her have that one sip, a lick, at least to know what it’s like to taste alcohol before bloody midnight rolls around and she officially ended up being a spinster forever.

A spinster who had never tasted alcohol on her tongue? What would the dental team at her practice say if they found out? She could imagine them gossiping and writing on their weblog already. Anna Mason, highly trained gum specialist, sourly turned thirty without a lick of alcohol to her name. Oh the shame.

No. She could not bear it. This MUST call for desperate measures.

“Look, please, you’ve got to believe me,” Anna pleaded. When the bartender looked unmoved, she resorted to using reasoning. “I’m working now. I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m a periodontist.” Still nothing. “I bloody worked as a dentist for two full years before applying to study in the gum field.” She’d started shouting now. The bartender didn’t even blink an eye at her reasoning. At that moment she felt like yanking all his teeth out, gum disease or not, and jabbing them right into his eyeballs, wanting to hear him whine in pain. Oh, she wished she were a witch like her friend Dalia. Then everyone would be freakin’ scared of her and she wouldn’t have to resort to begging for a small drink.

“Have you any idea how long both degrees took me? A full eight years, plus my three years out practicing, that equates to eleven!” By this stage, she was on full rampage, slamming her little fist onto the bar to intimidate him, so mad at her current situation that she could feel her cheeks growing red. As each word was spoken, her voice notched up an octave. “So if you think I’m under twenty-five, you must be a bloody idiot.”

In return, the bartender just continued to blink lazily, staring at her oddly, like she was a psychotic patient just out of a mental hospital, rambling on about her profession.

“How do you think I got into this freakin’ nightclub in the first place?” She rambled on. “I’m well over twenty-five, I assure you.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but I really need to confirm with your ID,” the bartender repeated indifferently.

“Are you a broken record? I told you my friend is going to find my wallet.” She fumed in frustration. “It must be in her bag or something.”

“Well, I’m happy to wait.” The bartender smiled at her.

“Well, I’m not happy to wait. I’ve only got five minutes left until midnight. Now are you going to serve me that drink or not?” she challenged.

“No!” the bartender said simply, not backing down.

Her shoulders sagged in defeat. Dear Lord, you will have me become a spinster without allowing me to drink alcohol, is that right? You want me to die a spinster? Well, I’m happy to oblige with that request, but why must you deprive me of alcohol too? I want to experience drinking before I turn thirty. So please, if you would just grant me this wish, then I would be happy to die a happy spinster. And just like that, her strength was back in her shoulders and she lifted herself, sitting much straighter.

What was she giving up for? There were still a full five minutes left before midnight. So she put on her best intimidating stare, the one she normally used when her patients refused to listen to her oral hygiene advice, the one that meant business, wishing and praying at the same time that Dalia and Julia would come back with her wallet in hand so she could get a swig of that drink.

Just then, she heard someone whisper something into her ear, and like electricity shot up her spine, she startled and turned her head to the direction of that voice. And God did answer her prayer because right there in front of her was that Casanova she had delivered the flowers to on the day before Valentine’s.

Her eyes took in his azure irises. There was that same wicked gleam as that fateful day. She redirected her gawking stare away from his penetrating gaze, her heart thumping to the rhythm of the loud music. Big mistake! It landed on his lips instead, and heaven help her, but he flashed that devilish grin again, the one that made her legs turn to jelly. If not for her sitting on the barstool, she would otherwise be on the floor by now.

But tonight, though, that smile held an extra special meaning, as if he were happy to see her again after that embarrassing stunt she had pulled, yanking off his towel. Tonight it was fully displayed, for her viewing only, his perfectly straight white teeth, probably a product of orthodontic work, many years of wearing braces, and bleaching— yes, bleaching to reach that level of whiteness on his enamel. Suddenly, that image of his semi-naked body danced right before her eyes, clouding her cheeks in a beautiful pink blush. So surprised she was seeing him right there in front of her, her face just mere inches away from his own, all she could utter at that moment was, “You!”

Why was it every time this Casanova was around, all she could do was stutter? It wasn’t like she was born with an impediment or something. In fact, she was quite the talkative person. Once she learned how to speak English, her cousins and friends couldn’t shut her up. So why now? Why all of a sudden couldn’t she string a simple sentence together?

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the sweetheart who confessed to me last week.” He spoke seductively, close to her ear. “Did you enjoy the view before you ran off like the devil was on your tail?”

What could she say? How to respond? She was tongue-tied. Then a thought struck her. “Buy me a drink.”

“What?” he asked, flabbergasted. She was sure he wasn’t expecting her to reply like that. But what had she to lose by demanding this request?

“Buy me a drink,” she repeated.

No way was she giving this up. This man looked like he was over twenty-five. He could buy a drink for her.

“Sure, sweetheart,” he said, smiling.

And as simple as cheese melting on toasted bread, Ryan ordered her a shot of whatever it was in that small cup, or glass, or something that looked like a portion cup in her dental practice. Anna immediately started to question whether that brown murky liquid was actually alcohol at all.

She picked up the small portion cup in her hand and turned it about, eyeing it at close quarters.

“Are you sure that’s alcohol? It sure looks murky,” Anna asked Ryan. Ryan simply smiled, then replied, “It’s spirit, sweetheart. Drink up.” “Why is it not purple like in the Bunsen burner?” Anna queried.

“It’s definitely spirit, sweetheart. Now drink it up.” He confirmed and then urged again.

Looking at her cellphone, she had but thirty seconds left before midnight hit. Not thinking any further, but with one mission to accomplish before Cinderella had to leave her glass slipper behind, she chunked the whole contents down in one go… and, my oh my, did she regret it, because at that very moment, her eyes watered, her breath caught, her face bloomed red, and all she wanted to do was one thing—spit that disgusting liquid right back out. But twenty seconds, dear heaven, twenty seconds to go before midnight struck. She could hold it in. Yes, she could.

Ryan, who was on the other side of the scene, observed her face blowing up like a puffer fish, her cheeks bowed out and her eyes bulging, as if she were holding the drink inside her mouth. Surprised, he suggested, “Drink it up. Don’t hold it like that.”

All Anna could do was shake her head vigorously. Her eyes stung furiously as jets of tears streamed down her cheeks, the alcohol in her oral cavity burning her alive. The foul liquid continued to kill her taste buds one by one, her mouth becoming numb.

Feeling sick to her core, she couldn’t contain the liquid anymore. Thirty or not, spinster or not, she didn’t want to die just yet. If she didn’t do something fast to rid herself off this foul burning liquid in her mouth, she would surely meet her maker.

So out it went. She spit out the entire shot, in the process spraying a stream in Ryan’s direction, who now sat facing her with a mixture of spirit and saliva all over his face and shirt.

And for the second time that night, Ryan’s libido deflated once more.