Darryl looked around at the girls on either side of him, grinning widely and holding up his glass.
“A toast, for all the beautiful ladies.”
The girls laughed and raised their glasses. All except for one.
“Why do they call drinks with ice ‘on the rocks’?” she said, tilting her head to one side. Dark beguiling eyes watched him from below long dark lashes.
Darryl peered at his drink.
“Ice is kind of like rocks?” He tilted his head the same way as her. “Isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It makes me think of shipwrecks, and then I get sad. You should be happy when you’re drunk, right?”
“Unless you’re drinking because you’re sad,” a redhead to Darryl’s left put in.
“I suppose,” the first girl said. She put her glass down on the table with a loud clunk. “A toast then, to ships on the rocks.”
The girls laughed and raised their glasses again. Darryl excused himself.
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