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I also know he has killed people… which is why I am here.
The music changes to another old favorite. Pat Benatar’s “Heartbreaker.”
Which is kind of fitting.
I look up from my vodka and soda to take in his broad back and thick arms, my gaze drifting down his thick, muscular body.
He is so much man I feel my body tingle in places that haven’t tingled in a long time.
Apparently, it’s a feeling shared by the women in the booth beside me.
“Jesus, my ovaries are crying,” says the brunette, who I’ve since learned is called Janey.
“My pussy is wet just looking at him,” says a blonde they call Vivian and who I will now refer to as TMI Vivian.
“God, I want to eat him with a spoon,” Janey says creepily.
“I want to lick every inch of that golden skin and then ride him like a pony,” says the redhead, whose name I haven’t learned yet.
“Back off, ladies, I saw him first,” TMI Vivian warns.
“It’s every woman for herself,” Janey says, quickly finishing her drink and standing.
“Don’t you dare!” TMI Vivian protests, standing just as quickly.
Not to be left out, the redhead stands too. “Hey, I’m interested in him as well.”
And before I can say these women are going to cause a spectacle, all three start arguing over the top of each other, drawing attention from everyone around us. Even Pat Benatar can’t compete with them.
“Fine!” TMI Vivian finally snaps, narrowing her eyes at her friends. “Paper-Rock-Scissors?”
I lift an eyebrow. Are they really going to rock off to see who can approach him?
After a minor pause, the two other women nod, and TMI Vivian counts them down—three, two, one.
“That’s not fair!” TMI Vivian cries when Janey’s paper beats her and the redhead’s rocks.
“That’s the rules,” Janey reminds her friend smugly, already digging into her purse for some lip gloss. After applying a thick layer, she lets out an excited giggle. “Don’t wait up for me, ladies.”
I turn back to my drink. It’s empty of alcohol, but I suck water from the ice through my straw to get the distaste out of my mouth.
I glance over at Janey, who is making her way across the bar toward Ares. She’s tottering on high heels and trying to pull down her incredibly short dress as she makes a beeline for her target.
“She’s such a bitch,” the redhead complains, shoving her arms across her chest and slumping back in her seat.
“Don’t worry,” TMI Vivian says. “He’s way out of her league. There’s no way he’s going to go for her. What is she even wearing?”
Turns out TMI Vivian is a mean girl.
The redhead laughs as she holds her fingers up to her ear like a phone. “Hello, Janey, this is the nineties calling, and we want our hair back.”
Correction, both of them are mean girls.
“And our shoes,” TMI Vivian adds.
They both roar with laughter.
I tell myself not to watch because I know it’s going to be a train wreck. For weeks I’ve watched women approach him, and not once has he ever shown any interest. It intrigues me because this guy could have any woman he wanted, and he chooses none of them.
