He took his usual seat at the bar, the bartender shouted a familiar “Howdy?” and he gestured he is “Rocking-n-Rolling”. “The usual coming your way,” said the bartender, pouring the scotch, while he turned his chair around to look around at the crowd that day.
Scanning the scene, he spotted her! Besotted, he stared at her, unabashed. The whisky on the rocks, glass wrapped in the tissue paper, just as he liked it, arrived. He picked up the glass, took a sip, not once moving his eyes away from her.
The game is on!
She saw him too, caught him staring! To her amusement, he seemed on a mission, his eyes pierced through her heart. She stared back. He rose his glass, as if drinking in honour of her presence.
She pretended to ignore him for the next several minutes. He could sense the storm he just stirred building up inside her. Finally, she walked over to the bar to order a custom cocktail for herself.
As she finished the directions to the intently listening bartender, he leaned a bit towards her, sniffed a bit and blurted “Jean Patou” and a little pause and some thinking later “Joy”. Her eyes lit up, a man who knew the fragrance so well, sure has a class she thought. “Impressed!” she said giving him a look that expressed as much.
“Consultant?” She asked. He nodded. “Live in a suitcase?” she prodded further, “Guilty” he replied with a smile.
“Commitment phobic?” she asked as she took the seat, “Experience speaking,” he seemed not so amused!
Fun and giggles
“You must already be in your happily ever after?” sarcasm showed up in his rhetoric. “What makes you say that?” she sensed the conversation was losing the steam. “Well, it took you 27 minutes to reach the seat you warm with your cute butt.” They both giggled.
“You got quite an ass, too,” she returned the compliment. “Plead guilty to that,” he showed no effort to hide his full-of-self attitude. She, for one, quite liked that.
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The conversation continued and blossomed, drinks flowed, and the two kept going strong at being themselves uncensored.
Time for a dance. Time of grazing fingers and the just apart lips. To feel each other’s breath.
The music ended, all couples clapped for the others. Back to the corner where it all started – it was time to bid goodbye!
Should she or shouldn’t she?
She took some paper and started to write her number. Scores of times in the past (every single time actually) she had written a wrong number, this time she was tempted to write the correct number. She weighed the charm the guy emitted and the good time she’d just had against what she may potentially rock. The last 4 digits – she made up. Kissed the paper – and let him have it.
His eyes brimmed with love and enchantment, locked with hers as she stepped a few steps back, and then turned around and left, not once turning around. (Perhaps she did not want to give it a second thought.)
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He sank in the seat, looked at the folded piece of paper, with no attempt to read what it says, crumpled it into a ball and took aim at the empty glass across the table. “Yes!” he exclaimed at a successful ‘basket’. (He had achieved what he wanted to from the interaction thus far. Proved to himself he was still in the ‘game’, just not playing. Extracted the ecstasy that lies in the power of seduction. He needed nothing more from this, for he belonged elsewhere.)
That lingerie, though…
He pulled out his phone and messaged his wife. “So you remember the lingerie we shopped for in NYC?”
“Looks like you scored again, my Tiger! Come home if you want to be a rabbit tonight,” came back the response.