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Men.
They are simple creatures fueled by the most absurd things.
Be it a pair of long legs or bursting cleavage, nine out of ten times, men will act the fool because of a woman’s gifts. Sometimes I find it entertaining to see how far men will go to share a total stranger’s bed just because she coos sweet nothings in their ears or bats her eyelashes at them.
Women aren’t as easily tempted.
They won’t fall all over themselves just because a good-looking guy flashes his winning smile at her. She needs a lot more stimulation than that to hold her interest.
Right now, nothing seems to captivate mine.
I came into this dive bar tonight looking for something or someone to take the edge off, but unfortunately, nothing here has managed to come close to what I need. Especially not the two morons who are going at it on my behalf, making total jackasses of themselves. I mean, I may have a hand in their petty argument. I have to amuse myself somehow.
“She said she was going to dance with me next, asshole,” the blond one blurts, his face so red with fury it looks like he’s about to pop.
“That isn’t happening. The girl told me she was going to have a drink with me next,” the ginger one shouts, his spit landing on the other man’s beet-red face.
“You want a drink? Here’s one for you,” the blond retorts, picking up my glass of whiskey from the nearby table and pouring it on the ginger’s head.
“You fucker!” the ginger yells, landing a punch in his nemesis’s jaw.
Predictably, they both start swinging left and right, so focused on their fight that they don’t even realize I’ve walked to the other side of the bar to grab another glass of whiskey since one of them decided to use mine to prove a point.
“Hit me with another, Jack,” I shout over the ruckus, slapping the bar to get the bartender’s attention.
Even though those two fools are still at it, no one in here seems to care. That’s why I love places like this.
You can give into your demons, and no one will lift a finger to help you, not when they came here trying to unleash their own dark side. No matter how many years I’ve lived in my sister’s home on the other side of this city, Hell’s Kitchen always feels like home to me. It’s where the sewer rats come out to play, and no one looks down on you for where you came from or the past you’ve had. We all have scars here, badges of honors we proudly put on display to show the world they can’t fuck with us.
“Any one of those dipshits yours?” the barkeep asks after he hands me my whiskey.
“Does it look like I’m taken?” I retort before emptying my glass in one full swig.
“Not right now,” he muses, pouring me another. “But keep drinking like that, and I’m sure you’ll end up being someone’s later tonight.”
“Or they’ll be mine,” I mutter before winking at him and raising my voice so he can hear. “Well, here’s hoping thatsomeonewalks through the door. It’s slim pickings from what I can see.”
The bartender licks his lips and leans against the bar, his gaze on my chest before he meets my eyes.
“Tell you what. If Prince Charming doesn’t come in tonight, I can take you home with me.”
I smirk at his lame pickup line and take stock of the man before me. His broad shoulders and muscular arms say that he would have no problem lifting me up and pocketing me away as easily as he would a pair of car keys—not that it would be too hard for him to do. At barely over five feet, I’m tiny compared to most women, let alone most of the men here.
But size only matters to a man.
I may be small, but I pack a punch.
Still, the barkeep’s light eyes and soft smile tell me he likes his women sweet, and that’s just not me.
I point my finger at him, making sure my breasts hike over the bar so he can have a better look as he leans in.
“More pouring and less talking. I don’t fuck the help,” I whisper seductively.
His smile immediately turns to a scowl, and he mutters, “Bitch,” under his breath as he pulls away. I’ve been called worse.
Not wanting to look at the scorned bartender’s face all night, I walk over to the jukebox with my whiskey and pick out a song I can dance to.
“You fucker!” someone behind me shouts out, making me look over my shoulder.
