Barret Wallace was a man’s man. He was huge and hulking and--aside from a soft spot where Marlene was concerned--nothing about him was even remotely girly. So, when Tifa set a glass of something pink and fruity looking down in front of him, he balked.
“What th’ hell, woman?!”
“Trust me,” the barkeep said, making her way to another table filled with patrons.
Barret looked at the drink for a long moment. Bravely, he took a sip.
And felt like he’d been kicked by a chocobo.
He grinned. Trust her, indeed! This was a man’s drink, no doubt about it