“So, what’ll you have,” he asked to the young lady as they scanned over the setting sun.
“Um, well,” teething her bottom lip. “I’ll have…um…” looking to the orange and red skyline.
“It’s just a drink.” Shoving hands into his jeans, lips squelched to the side, and scanned the mingling crowd.
“Um…. Wine. No, wait. Beer. You drink beer? Maybe I should have water? Yes, all this fresh air’s dehydrating. You? Um…. No, wait, cocktail? Is that too much? Or a non-alcoholic cocktail? That’ll be a juice, right? No, wait-”
“It’s just one drink,” his eyes rolled, suppressing an inner groan.
“This is fun?”
His eyebrow raised.
“Soooo romantic. Perfect place for our wedding, don’t you think?”
He gagged, tugging at his t-shirt’s collar as his face reddened.
“You alright? Want me to get you a drink?”
“I’ll fetch my own, thanks.” He turned and ran to edge and took a flying leap.
“MAN OVERBOARD,” came the cry.
The skipper at the helm shook his head. “That’s it – No more single nights on this boat. Poor blokes can’t handle the pressure.” Wheeled his yacht around and headed for the man swimming for shore.