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I debate going over there and asking to join her. I mean why not, right? She’s alone, I’m alone. We could share a drink or two, maybe a laugh, and then I could take her home and show her what that body of hers can really do.
Just as I’m getting off my stool, a man approaches her and sits down at her table. He shrugs apologetically, and she laughs. Fucking bastard. I don’t know where he’s been or why, but he left her sitting alone for far too fucking long. If I had been with her, whatever the fuck it was he was doing could have waited. She would have been more important than going to the bathroom or taking a call.
The level of animosity I feel toward the man is nothing compared to the sharp, icy fingers of jealousy that stab at me as I watch him reach out and touch her arm as they talk. How the fuck can I be jealous of someone I’ve never even spoke to? I don’t know, but I am.
I turn back to the bar. I don’t need to watch this any longer. I release my grip on my bottle when I realize I’m holding it tightly enough that it’s about to shatter in my hand. I down the rest of the beer and wave to the bartender for another one.
He obliges, and I thank him and take a long drink. This one is icy cold, much better than the first one, and I would be wholly satisfied now if it wasn’t for the fact I can hear her laughing. The bastard is making her laugh. It should be me. Is it her boyfriend? Husband? Just someone who took a chance on talking to a beautiful woman quicker than I did?
Whatever he is, the thought of him going home with her, holding her, kissing her, and touching her pussy fills me with rage. I want to claim that sexy mouth as mine. I want to be the one to make her come as I claim her pussy. I want to hear her screaming my name. It should be me, not that fucking Joe Nobody.
As much as I tell myself to let it go, I can’t do it and I find myself turning again, almost subconsciously. I feel a cold, empty feeling in my stomach when I look to her table and she’s gone. She’s gone home with the loser. He’s getting to be with her, and I’m stuck here in a bar alone.
I hear her laugh again and the hole is instantly filled, my heart soaring. I follow the sound with my eyes. She’s on the dance floor with the loser, who has two left feet. He scores higher than I do in that category though. There’s no way in hell I would dance in public. Oh, who am I kidding? If she asked me to, I’d be up there like a shot.
Watching her dance is like slow, agonizing torture for me. She sways her hips, showing off her pert ass. She puts her arms in the air and her vest top rides up just enough to show me a flash of her smooth back before it settles back down. I swallow hard, watching her as she turns and sways and moves to the beat.
The man reaches out and puts his hand on her hip. She twists her body away from him, shrugging off his hand without being completely obvious about it. This gets my attention. He’s not her husband or her boyfriend. His touch is making her uncomfortable. She’s not exactly pushing him away though. Maybe she’s just playing hard to get.
When I first saw the man sitting down, I placed him around thirty, but now I can see he’s closer to my age, twenty-three. He’s not acting his age though. He’s acting like a drunken high school jock as he reaches out for her hip again. She neatly sidesteps him and keeps dancing as though she’s oblivious to his advances.
Her sidestep brings her face-to-face with me, and I quickly take a long drink, hoping she didn’t catch me staring at her. I dare to look back. She’s looking at me, smiling. She caught me all right. I laugh a little as she watches me. She doesn’t seem in the least bit concerned about me watching her. She’s certainly no wallflower, not like that quiet table in the corner implied.
The man she’s with spots her smiling at me, and he gets his body between us. Dick. This time, he doesn’t just try to put his hand on her hip. He lunges forward and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her body against his.
Even over the music, I hear her telling him to get off her. I hear the fear in her voice and it sends a flare of anger through me. He ignores her, and my temper flares further. I slam my bottle on the bar and get up off the stool. He’s going to fucking pay for scaring her like that.
