Then some stranger asked me dance
And I revealed to her my two left feet.
Said, Don't get me wrong I'm glad you asked
But tonight's about me and an old memory.

Ten Rounds with Jose Cuervo (Tracy Byrd)

I had quite enough of it, of course. Jane had done her number on me one time too many. I was fucking finished with that girl now. It wasn't that she cheated on me so much as her attitude when I caught her. I told her that I was willing to forgive her and I admitted my own infidelity at that point, not feeling right about making her feel guilty when I had done the same. She flew into a rage at that and made it clear that she wouldn't forgive me for what I did, despite my having been so understanding of her. That did it. We had both cheated at the same party, being a bit sauced and neither of us had fooled around prior to that. We were in the same boat, weren't we? I didn't need her double standards. I needed her to get her head screwed on straight and let this go just as I had.

I was furious with her, but it still hurt, so I went off to lick my wounds, telling Jane, "I'm going to Cavanaugh's. When you're ready to get your head out of your ass and forgive me the way that I forgave you, maybe we can talk things over and see where we are. Until then, consider this a break. Our relationship is suspended until further notice."

Jane stood there in shock, trying to mutter out some kind of lame excuse for her hypocrisy, while I grabbed my jacket and headed to the Irish pub, walking as I didn't wish a DUI, and Cavanaugh's wasn't that far away from the apartment that Jane and I shared. If she did anything to my stuff in the meantime, I'd already decided to sue her ass over it. I was that angry right then. She had no call to judge me since she did the same thing as me. We should have just let it go and kissed and made up, but instead she chose to cop an attitude about it.

When I reached Cavanaugh's, the newest performance had begun for the Saturday night bands theme, but I was annoyed with how off-key the lead singer seemed to be as she covered "Do You Have To Let It Linger?" by the Cranberries. Then again, maybe it was just an off night for her or something, and she was kind of cute in a punky way, with short reddish brown hair clearly meant as a tribute to her musical idol. I just didn't see how I would put Jane past me with that racket in the background, but I had to try, to escape the pain of this major fight with my estranged girlfriend.

"Alright, Hoss, what will it be?" asked the barkeep, whom I didn't recognize.

"Name's Ike. And it will be Cuervo Gold. Hold the worm, please," I joked a little despite my misery.

"On the rocks?" the man asked me.

"Hell, no! I want it straight and neat. No chaser. Salt and lime, though," I told him, knowing exactly what I wanted.

"So be it, Sonny. Sorry ... Ike, you said, right? I'm BJ. Short for Billy Joel, but then my parents were big fans of his," the guy said through his decaying teeth.

"Ah, I see," I smiled as I tossed back the tequila with salt and lime.

It was like a jolt of electricity or a bolt of lightning coursing through my body rather suddenly. It was too soon for the buzz to kick in yet, but the anticipation of it was excitement enough in its own way. It didn't take long for the liquor to hit me, however, especially on an empty stomach, as I had no appetite for any food, just for booze. It wasn't quite enough to make me feel too much better, but at least my boots started dancing in response to the rather melodic song, which was rather strange to me, given how I felt earlier about it.

"Hit me again, BJ," I told the barkeep, wanting more at this juncture.

"Sure, buddy," he grinned, pouring me another shot, which I downed in short order.

Now, of course, I didn't mind the singing so much, as the Cranberries' cover band played yet another of their hits. They actually sounded a bit poetic in fact, though I wasn't sure if that was honeyed tea in their throats or just enough tequila in my blood to destroy my taste in music. It didn't matter just then, because I was happy as a clam, though I'm still not sure what's so happy about a clam (they're dinner, after all). Speaking of which, that was the moment that I stupidly decided that I should eat something at last, slow down the effects of alcohol. Boy was that a futile exercise, especially given what was to follow.

"I think that I need a bite to eat. Some sliders, if you will," I ordered, which made BJ shake his head a bit, but he promptly gave the order to a waitress, who passed it on to the cooks.

"Hey, honey, how about a dance?" a very soft, silky voice uttered from behind me, causing me to turn around.

Standing in front of me was a woman who was either pure feminine sensuality or else a prime example of beer (or tequila) goggles run amok. At least to my altered perception, she was about five feet, three inches tall and unmistakably olive in her skin tone. Her breasts begged to be fondled, so open was her cleavage to the public, and her hips were covered only by her lengthy T-shirt, as her jeans started below them. Forget hip-huggers, these were thigh-huggers, and I was pretty sure that underneath the shirt, she was at most covered by a thong.