You were sitting at the bar, absentmindedly playing with your empty glass.
Suddenly, the jukebox sprang to life and started playing “Cold as Ice” by Foreigner. A man sat down about two seats from you, ordering a drink. You glanced over and noticed his heavy jacket, and his moody face.
“Something I can help you with?” he asked. You cleared your throat, aware that you'd been staring at him.
“No, I just....the song and your jacket. Are you cold or something?”
His lips slightly twitched upward as he took a drink. “I guess you could say that.”
“And yet you're drinking vodka? With ice? I sense a pattern here,” you teased. He cleared his throat and turned slightly to look at you.
“It's not the temperature I like so much as the rush that goes along with it. The cold hand grasping at your heart for a fraction of a second and the adrenaline that follows.”
You looked at the bartender. “Give me what he's having.” H