"You make a great Manhattan." I say to the bartender, when he stops back by to ask how it is.

I recently started drinking Manhattans. It is a classic drink from way back. I discovered them this past Thanksgiving. Single now, I was asked to join my brother at my parents townhouse for dinner. My brother has been single his whole life, and has never had anything to do, other than to dote on my parents. I have always had to "fit" them into my otherwise busy family schedules, but not him... and he's a martyr about it. When I asked what I could bring, he said "nothing, I have it all covered". What a dick. But I'm not going empty-handed, and I recall my parents enjoying those classic cocktails. For Mom it was the Sidecar, and for dad... always the Manhattan. So I hit the liquor store, with my internet found recipes, to buy the necessary ingredients. Not to be completely overshadowed by my brother, I drop about $250 on high quality stuff and head over.

Dad is in rough shape, glued to a recliner, with an oxygen tank and a TV remote. He asked me once if there was something other than Netflix... because he had seen all of it. Mom looks at my armload of liquor with surprise, and my brother shakes his head and frowns. "He can't drink Steve." he says, trying to take any wind out of my sails. From the other room my Dad says, "Sure I can, it can't do any more damage." I give my brother a grin, and start following the recipes. 30 minutes later, I hand my Mom her Sidecar, and bring my Dad his Manhattan, partially blocking his view of the TV. He takes a sip, and let's out a huge smile. I have not seen him smile in a long time. I'm thinking to myself, "Fuck you brother". Then Dad hands it back to me "That was great, thanks" — Great! You took one sip. — "You can finish it" he says. So I do, and now it is my favorite drink. Dad died a week later.

It's 7:30, Thursday night at CW's Gin Joint in Downtown Tampa. This place is always crowded. I am sitting at the bar with my foot on the stool next to me, as if to say, "Don't even think about taking this chair." We were supposed to meet at 8, but I always arrive early. I enjoy my solitary Manhattan time, but just one. Drunk on a first meeting seems like a bad plan. I always find a spot where I can clearly see the front door. There is something about watching a woman, dressed to the nines, first walking in. Her face a combination of nervousness and hope, as she scans for a man who she has only seen in photos.

We are meeting for "Drinks", but of course I have a dinner reservation for 8:30 setup, in case things go well. The clock ticks 8, and as if she had been waiting outside for that exact moment, the door opens and she enters. Wow... she's the opposite of a catfish... she looks even better than her photos. I am nervous for a second that she might be out of my league... but I've never lacked confidence, and the concern passes, as I wave from my seat. Both of our profiles listed us a 5'-8", but she is wearing 4" heels, which becomes obvious when she reaches me at the bar. I don't mind a bit.

"Steve?" she says, a slight questioning in her voice. I look exactly like my profile, so I am not sure if I am detecting disappointment... but I mirror the motion, "Sarah?" "Yes!" she says, and moves in to give me a hug as I stand. I'm not sure why, but a hug seems so much more optimistic than a handshake.

"Have you been waiting long?" she says, as she drapes a sweater over her stool and slides onto it. Not wanting to seem too eager I say, "I got here just before you". She eyes my almost empty Manhattan, and obviously knows better.

We had been chatting for a few days prior, so we had already covered some of the basics. I wave the bartender over, "What can I get you miss?" he says to her. She replies, "I'll have what he's having." It does not make any sense, but for some reason, I am extremely pleased with this answer. She does not even know what it is. I'm not sure if it was the Manhattan I already had, or not, but it suddenly feels warmer in here.

First meetings are kind of like dancing with someone the first time. You step on each other's toes as you find the rhythm. When things are clicking, it does not take long to get in sync, when they are not, that sync never happens. She is wearing the perfect dress for this. Not too short or tight, but enough for you to see what her body may look like. It is not the most important thing to me, I am pretty open to different body types... within limits. Still, I take the opportunity to look her over, as she is looking the place over facing away from me. I am a man after all. Her drink arrives.

"Cheers!" — she says holding her glass up towards me. I pick mine up to move it towards her's and she stops me, — "It is bad luck to cheers without looking into each other's eyes". I look up, above the rim of our almost touching glasses, and meet her gaze. "Cheers!" I say, and we clink glasses. I am not sure how long I should hold this gaze, but I decide I will let her break it first. Several seconds go by, then she smiles and takes a sip, still not breaking the gaze. I turn my head back towards the bar, losing this round. I am a little flummoxed, this is feeling a lot more intense than a first meeting normally does ten minutes in.

I don't want to lower the heat, but I don't want to assume the heat is elevated either. I don't even know her yet, and could easily be misreading things. "So, where did you go on your last vacation?" I say, knowing that question usually leads to some conversation.

"Bahamas" — she says — "with my ex." I am hoping this is not the start of hearing about her ex from now on. I get it... it was the last person you cared about. Mentioning them here and there is fine, but too much... says you may not be over them. I have already had my "rebound" girl, and I prefer not to be someone else's "rebound" guy. It's a shitty spot to be in.

It's a little awkward now, I don't want to extend that line of conversation, because I obviously don't want to have the ex become the focus. "But I don't want to talk about that." she says, and I'm relieved.

You can't help yourself. If things are going well, even on a first meeting, you kind of let your mind wander with what-ifs. You start picturing what life might look like, if she became a part of it. I'm picturing Sarah now, with me, in the Bahamas. It's not a bad picture, but I don't even know her yet. She has a professional job, and seems to have her shit together, and my mind starts assembling the pieces of who I think she is, when she interrupts "Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving!" I say, as I give a thumbs up to the hostess from behind her back. "Me too!" she says, as the hostess arrives and says "I can take you to your table now." Sarah looks at me, with one eyebrow raised "Just drinks huh?" I smile and shrug, as we make our way to the table I had previously requested in the corner. I slide into the seat in the corner facing out, as she takes the seat to my right. It is a little trick I learned. Nobody wants to sit with their back to the restaurant, and by taking the corner seat, she will naturally sit next to me, on one side or the other, instead of across from me. But I get the feeling she would have either way.

"Here's the menu, specials are on the first page insert, can I freshen your drinks?" says the waitress. I look up... damn she waited on me for my last "first meeting" here. I hope she doesn't say... right as she says "Welcome back sir." crap. "Come here often?", Sarah says, and I act like I did not hear her, "Yes, two more of these I say, looking at her for approval" She nods, and the waitress turns towards the bar and scurries off.

Appetizers can be an interesting test, "Do you like Escargot... or Calamari?" I ask. "Either, or both." she says, clearly not intimidated by them. I look around the restaurant and notice a few guys checking her out. I smile at one, who is looking a little too long, and he moves his gaze upwards, as though he was just looking around. It does not bother me. What would bother me, would be if she was looking around at others, but she's not. I bring my eyes back around to hers, and she is looking into them. I am wondering if she is also processing some "what-if" thoughts.

"We'll have the Calamari and the Escargot to start." I say to the waitress who has returned with our Manhattan refills. Manhattans are strong... I know that two is my limit, and I wonder what her limit is. We gaze into each other's eyes, and clink again, "Cheers!" we both say in unison.

We devoured the appetizers, she was not even pretending to not be hungry. I ordered a big steak, and she ordered some fish thing that was on the specials page. Conversation was easy, we found a rhythm pretty quick. Not content to wait for me, she motions to the waitress, waves a finger over our glasses, and signals for two more. This is about to get interesting. Ordinarily I would be switching to beer now, and I have no idea what her limit is. She is clearly feeling it, as am I, she got quite giggly over the last hour.

The food arrives to our table of gigglers, and I'm not even hungry. I do that all the time... order a big meal, and then have two bites of it. Maybe it was the appetizers, or maybe it was the Manhattans, who knows. She seems to be in the same boat, but eats a little more than I do. The alcohol is kicking in and we are mellowing out now, giggles replaced with sultry looks. I am not trying to give a sultry look, it's just how I look when I've had too much to drink... not sure about her though. "Are we done?" the waitress breaks the sultry silence. "Ummm,", I look at Sarah, who nods. "Want any boxes?" the waitress asks, looking at the mostly full plates. I look at Sarah again, she shakes her head, the table is cleared, and the waitress vaporizes.

I am looking at our almost empty "third" Manhattans. I definitely don't want another one, as I am sure I will embarrass myself. "Care to see our dessert cart?" — the waitress is back — "or a refill on your drinks?" Please, please, please.. "No" Sarah says, we're good. Whew, I ask for the check.

It's almost 11 PM, the night has flown by, as I realize I am sitting with a woman who has had too much to drink and drive. Hell, so have I. It's not that far a walk to our individual places, but I would have to escort her to her's first, so that would be a long walk for me. "What do you want to do now?" she asks. I was already thinking that this first meeting, had turned into something a lot longer than I had anticipated. I like her, and I am buzzed, so I don't want to screw it up now.

"We should probably call it a night," — I say — "we both have work tomorrow." hoping logic would kick in. "You can come over to my place," — she says with a hint of a slur — "or we can go to yours... they're same distance." Okay, I'm a guy, and like all guys, I am hard-wired for sex at the drop of a hat. I'm looking at her, knowing it would probably be pretty awesome too. But... I'm not that guy. It's not that I have never had sex on a first meeting, but not when she is clearly buzzed. I'm pretty sure that's called rape, even if she does not regret it the next morning.

I feel a hand on my leg, moving upwards under the table. I don't know, or even care if anyone can see. I'm also buzzed. She reaches my dick, and gives it a squeeze. I look at her, and see her tongue pushed slightly out of the corner of her smiling mouth. "Let me call you an Uber." I very reluctantly say.