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“Excuse me!?” I turn around, giving whoever said that a dirty look. He didn’t just say what I think he did, did he?
“I said,” the slick-haired, smile-adorned guy leans a little closer to me, and his cologne floods down my nostrils and my throat, as he speaks, “looks like your posse left you hanging!”
“Oh,” I nod, instinctively moving a little back. “Yeah. They’re just having fun.”
I’m about to turn my back to him again, a subtle effort at nipping whatever this is in the bud, but he won’t have it.
“Are you?” I hear him ask.
“Am I what?”
“Having fun?”
My body turns fully to him now. I even slide my drink to my right side, so I can reach it easily, without turning away from him. He’s not that bad looking. Slightly rugged, rocking that 3 day old beard like he just forgot to shave and doesn’t care. I’m guessing he’s a little hot in that black leather jacket, but guys, just like girls, are willing to sacrifice comfort for looking good. Underneath the jacket, I see the faint outlines of a Nirvana t-shirt. So, we got a rebel on our hands.
“I’m alright,” I reply. “You?” I ask, not really because I’m desperate to prolong this conversation, but out of sheer politeness. He hasn’t started off with a lame pick up line, and that counts for something, too.
“I am, but I don’t like seeing a beautiful woman alone at a bar. Just seems wrong to me.”
“Does it now?” I chuckle.
The music has gotten more bearable, and we can have an actual conversation without invading too much of our personal space.
“What are you drinking?”
“A Manhattan,” I tell him.
He immediately signals at the bartender to bring me another one.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him, now looking at two glasses of drinks I might not finish.
“I only have to do one thing, and that is die,” he grins, “eventually. Everything else I do is led by pure desire.”
“At least you’re honest about it,” I can’t help but join in this little flirting.
“Why lie?” he shrugs. “We’re all animals. Only, some are better at hiding it than others.”
“Homo homini lupus est?” I smirk, remembering the little Latin I had back in high school, and the only proverb that stuck for some reason.
He frowns a little, tilting his head to the left side. He takes a long, drawn out inhale through his nostrils, which expand abnormally for just one single moment. Then, his lips purse, as his nostrils take their normal form again. It all happened so quickly, that I’m left wondering if I just imagined seeing that.
“Not many girls can quote Latin,” he says, those grey eyes taking over a depth that hasn’t been there before. “And, good Latin. What other surprises have you got hiding in that pretty little head of yours?”
He gets so close to me, that the very fragrance of his cologne makes me woozy. Immediately, I remember all those horror stories about guys drugging the girls they meet at bars by putting something in their drinks, but I’m sure that he hasn’t touched mine. Still, why am I feeling like I’m drunk after half a Manhattan?
“I don’t reveal that after just one drink,” I hear myself chuckle, but it’s like it’s not me, like I’m hearing myself from some deep cave and my voice is all distorted.
“More drinks could be arranged,” his grin has turned into a sneer.
His eyes are leering, and his fangs seem to have grown longer. But, it can’t be. People can’t grow their teeth. I just haven’t noticed them before, because I haven’t been looking at him closely enough.
“Thank you, but I plan on finishing the one I ordered for myself, and heading on home,” I manage to mutter, fighting off a wave of tiredness.
I feel like I could lie down on the ground, close my eyes and just fall asleep. I’ve never felt this before, and it’s alarming. Something’s not right. I look around, looking for either Tina or Nicky, but they’re nowhere to be seen.
“Looking for someone?” he asks.
“Yeah, my posse, as you called them.”
