#6: Kiss Me Quick
“Kiss me now.”
Amber eyes held Mikoto’s gaze. Unlike Antiqua’s usual dim glow, tonight’s warm orange lighting caught a faint flush rising across Shandy’s pale skin.
Was it the Panaché doing this? A cocktail made from beer and cider, barely two percent alcohol — was that really enough to color a professional bartender’s cheeks this red?
“Shandy-san…?”
“I want you to kiss me now.”
Shandy closed the distance between them by degrees. Her lips, damp with Panaché, drew close.
A kiss shouldn’t have been anything to be embarrassed about, really. No one else was around, and they’d already touched lips — twice, however unintentionally. Looking further back, Mikoto had kissed plenty of people before, men and women both, without any of this fuss.
So why did it feel like her heart was being seized in a fist? Mikoto couldn’t say.
And what she couldn’t say either was the name of the actual recipe.
“…Am I right in guessing you’d like a Kiss Me Quick?”
“Oh, so you knew? At least the name of it.”
“Yes — just the name.”
Perhaps because her bit had been called out, Shandy straightened up at once and lined up a handful of bottles in front of Mikoto. Whatever seductive air she’d been wearing a moment ago vanished; she rose with her usual smile back in place.
“Let me walk you through it, hand in hand. Since you’re going to the trouble of making it, I’d like to enjoy a good, satisfying kiss.”
With that, Shandy circled around behind the seated Mikoto. Slender arms, thin enough to look like they might snap, reached in from either side of her, hands settling over hers.
Hand in hand, quite literally. The fingers that brushed the back of Mikoto’s hand were warm.
“That’s a very literal hand-in-hand lesson.”
“Not a fan? Of this sort of thing?”
Shandy’s warmth pressed in from her back, both hands, and her right ear. That familiar citrus scent seemed to rise up as if from Mikoto’s own skin now.
Answer carelessly here, and she’d lose outright. Realizing as much, Mikoto sealed her own mouth by draining the last of her Panaché.
“Then let’s begin the lesson, Mikoto-san.”
“…Please do, Professor Shandy.”
Shandy’s fingers wove between Mikoto’s own. A silk-smooth warmth spread through her hand. Blaming the whole sensation on alcohol, Mikoto let Shandy guide her hands to the bottles and the jigger.
The Kiss Me Quick contest had begun.
“First, the base — an anise liqueur. Here at the shop we use Pernod. Sixty milliliters. Fill the larger side of the jigger to the brim, and about a third of the smaller side.”
“An anise liqueur?”
“A spirit steeped with herbs. Beyond aniseed, there’s a whole blend of a dozen-plus herbs at work — a distinctive grassy note and a clean, refreshing finish.”
With Shandy’s hand guiding hers, Mikoto measured the liqueur out in two passes with the jigger. Pouring it into the measuring cup, then twisting her wrist to tip it into the shaker — Shandy led with practiced ease, matching every motion Mikoto made.
“…Measured out.”
“Quite skilled, aren’t you. Must be good instruction.”
“I don’t think good instructors usually breathe on their students’ ears.”
“I’m just talking to you normally, aren’t I?”
Every time Shandy murmured close to her ear, that breathy laugh of hers rattled straight through Mikoto’s skull. Between the bad drinks from the client dinner and the Panaché, her head was starting to spin.
“Next, one bar-spoon of orange curaçao. And two dashes of bitters.”
Together they picked up the long, spiral-handled bar spoon and measured out the curaçao from its square bottle. The bitters sat in a small bottle not unlike a soy sauce dispenser — two dashes of that too. Careful not to let her trembling hands give her away, Mikoto poured everything into the shaker as instructed and gave it a light stir with the spoon.
“Let’s do a quick taste test. Give the spoon a little lick.”
Mikoto ran her tongue along the back of the spoon, tasting the three still-unfamiliar spirits together. A sharp, tongue-pricking hit of alcohol first. Chasing after it came the citrus tang of the curaçao, then the grassy, meadow-like scent of the anise liqueur cutting through her nose. What lingered behind was the bitters’ unmistakable bite.
“This one’s complicated too. And strong…”
“Sweet kisses are only for children, after all.”
Shandy, pressed close against her back, pulled the hand still holding the spoon toward herself. The very spoon Mikoto had just licked was drawn to her own lips. An indirect kiss.
“Not bad. It gets cut with soda water in the end anyway, and I do like mine strong.”
“So next, at last—”
“The shake you’ve been waiting for.”
Mikoto plunged the tongs into the ice pail Shandy had set out. With a right hand hot enough it threatened to melt the ice on contact, she quickly filled the shaker.
“You really have been studying. Ice starts melting the instant it touches liquid. The trick to a good cocktail is finishing fast, before the ice has a chance to water it down.”
Unusually talkative tonight, Shandy murmured from behind her, breathing several times heavier than usual.
Her breath grazed Mikoto’s ear, breaking her concentration again and again. She could barely track what her own hands were doing anymore. Everything felt hazy. Blaming it all on the alcohol, Mikoto did her best to hold herself together.
If she couldn’t even manage to make the cocktail, that would be a total forfeit. There was no telling what Shandy might do to her then.
Somehow, Mikoto made it through the process. She sealed the ice-filled shaker with its top half — strainer and cap locked firmly in place.
“When you seal it, make sure to push the air out of the shaker first. But when you shake, you want plenty of air folded into the drink. A bartender has to know how to read the air in a room — and in a shaker.”
Shandy, who’d been pressed against her back, drifted away with a soft breath. Probably meant to take the seat beside her and watch the shake unfold.
Mikoto thought back to the Martini Shandy had once made for her, and lifted the silver shaker with both hands.
“There are a few different shaking styles out there, but I won’t lecture you on technique. I’m the one who placed the order with you, bartender Mikoto-san — do it however feels right to you.”
“…Here goes.”
She swung her arm without thinking. A sharp rattle of ice. Through the pressure against her palms, she could feel the ice tumbling inside the shaker. From there, she just mimicked what she’d seen, shaking the egg-shaped vessel by feel.
The rhythmic clatter of liquid and ice. The longer she shook it, the colder the shaker grew in her hands. The spirits chilling evenly, blending together, folding in air until the sharp edges softened into something round.
Mikoto remembered something Shandy had once told her.
—No matter what kind of individuality someone carries, mix them together and let them dissolve into each other, and you get a delicious cocktail either way. That’s what I believe.
Anise liqueur. Orange curaçao. Bitters.
Mikoto didn’t fully understand the fine details of how the three interacted. She just kept shaking, clumsy as it was, silently willing them to mix, to dissolve into one another.
Somewhere along the way, her original plan — deliberately make a bad cocktail and lose the game on purpose — had quietly slipped her mind.
All Mikoto could think of now was one thing.
—Make a delicious Kiss Me Quick. Make Shandy admit defeat.
She had to keep thinking about it that way. Otherwise, remembering the warmth of Shandy’s body, the breath against her ear, she felt like she might actually die of embarrassment.
“…Is that about enough?”
“The ingredients don’t fight each other too badly, so twenty shakes should do it. Now, the finish.”
The tumbler glass Shandy set out was already chilled. A Kiss Me Quick is finished by cutting the shaken spirits with soda water.
Removing the shaker’s top, Mikoto poured the pale, cloudy yellow liquid into the glass. Working quickly so the ice wouldn’t have time to water it down, she topped it off slowly with soda water. A final, genuinely light stir with the spoon — careful not to kill the carbonation — and Mikoto licked the back of the spoon one last time.
“…A triumph, if I do say so myself.”
“Then go ahead and serve it with a clever little line, Mikoto-san-style.”
Drawing a small breath to push down her embarrassment, Mikoto set the glass down in front of Shandy.
“A Kiss Me Quick. A rich, strong kiss, made just the way you like it, from me. Will it impress you?”
“Yes, I’d love to be impressed.”
Smiling her light, rolling smile, Shandy lifted the glass.
Chilled, beaded with condensation, the glass held a pale, cloudy yellow. That cloudiness on contact with water was a signature trait of anise liqueur — of Pernod specifically.
Her amber eyes shifted into a new moon. Closing her eyes, she brought the glass to her lips in silence. A small first sip, and Shandy let out a soft, satisfied breath.
“…How is it?”
“Which do you think?”
“You do love dodging a question, Shandy-san.”
“I love the back-and-forth. Hiding your true feelings, but not quite all the way. This kind of exchange, with you.”
“Same here.”
Shandy went in for a second sip. Longer this time, drawing in the pale yellow liquid at greater length. The hair falling against her cheek, the sliver of ear just visible beneath it, her profile — all of it more beautiful than anything else in the world right then.
“…It’s delicious. Maybe because I know it’s something you made.”
“Does that count as being impressed?”
She set the glass down and let out a rueful laugh.
“Yes. I concede. First time I’ve ever been beaten.”
“I did it…!”
After a long, unbroken losing streak, Mikoto had finally clawed out a win.
She caught herself clenching her fists, trembling faintly. Because only now did she remember something she’d forgotten a long time ago.
This round of the game was the reversed version — losing was winning. If she won by impressing Shandy, what waited on the other side of that victory was—
“Which means, as the loser, I get to order the winner around.”
“Wh— ah…!”
She’d gotten too caught up in the cocktail contest. By the time she noticed, it was already far too late.
Mikoto had won the match and lost the game.
That, understandably, called for at least a little protest.
“No, wait a moment. This whole thing depended entirely on you, didn’t it? No matter how badly I’d made the cocktail, you’re the one who decides the verdict.”
“Well, it really is delicious. Would you like to try, Mikoto-san?”
Deliberately turning the glossed side of the rim toward her, Shandy held the glass out. Not willing to lose to Shandy’s mischievous laugh, Mikoto pressed her lips to the glass without hesitation, indirect kiss and all.
“How’s the taste?”
“…Delicious,” Mikoto admitted.
“Tastes like real talent, doesn’t it.”
Mikoto’s shoulders slumped under the terrifying weight of beginner’s luck. The recipe, the measurements — all of it had been walked through hand in hand by Shandy from the start. She’d only done the shaking herself, and even that had been under Shandy’s direction the whole way. There’d been no way it could have come out badly.
“I actually won, and still I lost…”
“Ha. Well then, as promised, let’s hear my request.”
Waxing-crescent eyes looked up at her.
There was no escaping now. This was, after all, a game between the two of them. Running from a challenge she’d already accepted would leave her with no right to keep playing against Shandy at all. Mikoto steeled herself.
“As long as it’s something I can actually do.”
“Don’t worry. It’s simple.”
The moment she said it, Shandy pressed herself against Mikoto. Her beautiful, doll-like white face closed in, right before Mikoto’s eyes.
Catching Shandy reflexively in her arms, Mikoto scrambled to cover her fluster with a grown-up-sounding joke.
“Seems like you’ve had a bit too much.”
“Yes. Drunk — on you, Mikoto-san.”
Shandy’s fingertips trailed slowly down Mikoto’s back. Even through her winter clothes, the gentle touch was unmistakable. Fighting down the ticklish, embarrassed, faintly pleasant feeling all at once, Mikoto waited for what came next.
“…Here’s my request. Is that all right?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Kiss Me Quick.”
Shandy said it in fluent English — the very name of the cocktail they’d just made.
Which meant, plainly: kiss me right now.
“…Are you asking for a refill?”
“Yes. Though this time, I’d like the real thing.”
“Like before — why not just take it yourself?”
“I want you to take it from me, Mikoto-san.”
Her amber eyes drifted shut, and Shandy pressed her lips together, waiting.
Mikoto’s heart pounded hard enough to feel in her veins. Her vision flickered in and out. Close enough to feel her breath, Shandy’s beautiful, achingly lovely face waited right there. Both of Shandy’s arms were wrapped around her back; Mikoto’s own arms, without quite meaning to, were holding her in turn. That familiar citrus scent had stopped registering as unfamiliar somewhere along the way — or maybe she’d simply gone numb to it.
All Mikoto could feel was just how badly she was shaking.
She didn’t know why.
It was only taking back a kiss that had already been taken from her twice before.
She’d kissed people before this, men and women both.
And this — this was supposed to be nothing more than a kiss for play.
“…Don’t keep me waiting too long. I’m embarrassed too, you know.”
Eyes still closed, Shandy pressed her.
Mikoto caught the flicker of a thought crossing her mind — the unsettling possibility that she might actually want Shandy — and blamed it firmly on the alcohol, pushing it away.
“Sorry if I’m bad at this.”
“Better than being too good at it.”
Quietly, Mikoto took Shandy’s lips for her own.
Brief. A small, birdlike kiss, no more than a touch.
The short silence that followed felt like it stretched on for an eternity.
“…That’s it, then.”
“Yes.”
A full moon peeked through Shandy’s eyes, before her damp gaze shifted at once into a waxing crescent.
“…Rather a childish kiss, wasn’t it?”
“D-don’t critique the kiss, please.”
“No, I only meant it was sweet. Delicious.”
Unable to hold it back any longer, Mikoto dropped her face into her hands. She couldn’t let Shandy — of all people — see her face right now, burning red, mortified enough to die on the spot.
“Tonight’s game goes to me again, doesn’t it?”
“Yes… A total defeat, for me…”
“Ha. But you did well, all the same. In honor of your efforts, I’ll let this one be on the house.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“Yes, so — how about a refill? Of the Kiss Me Quick.”
“…Which one would you like?”
Shandy smiled, mischievous.
“I’m greedy. Both.”
—Tonight’s game of love: total defeat for Mikoto.
Though at least she saved five thousand yen.