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I cough to get her attention. “Excuse me,” I say.
She doesn’t hear me. She takes a glass and runs it under the water.
“Excuse me,” I say, louder this time. A few people turn their heads. She still doesn’t.
Is she ignoring me? In anger, I bang my hand on the bar.
This time, she turns slowly. Her eyes are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen - an impenetrable grey, as mysterious as nature itself. And her face - a sweetheart face, tiny with big eyes.
She has an eyebrow raised, and clearly, she’s not amused.
“You’re entitled, aren’t you?” she asks me, arms folded across her breasts. Her tits pop out of that shirt with the deep V-neck, and I try extra hard to not let her see me stare.
“You’re slow,” I drawl.
“I like to keep men like you waiting,” she retorts sassily.
“Men like ... me?” I ask.
“I know the likes of you. Never hear a no. Always get what you want at the snap of a finger. Entitled.” She attacks like a tigress.
Her eyes narrow, “Don’t play coy with me. I have dealt with men like you before.”
I lean against the bar, “You have dealt with men who know what they want?”
She rolls her eyes, “Men who think they deserve everything just because they have power.”
I chuckle, “You know, you’re not wrong. But I’m different.”
She arches an eyebrow, “Different, how?”
I tilt and look at her, “I don’t just want everything. I want ...you,” I say, toying with her.
I could see a slight blush on her cheeks.
“Why?” she asks stone-faced. Any other woman would have giggled or acted coy, but she covered up.
Smart.
I lean in and whisper, “You have fire in your eyes. And I want you to unleash it on me.”
She bites her lip, considering my words. Then she finally speaks, “Okay. But I can guarantee you have never had a woman like me.
I grin, “Talk is cheap.”
She grabs my shirt collar and pulls me in. I find my heart racing and believe she’s about to kiss me.
Instead, with our lips inches apart, she whispers, staring me right in the eyes - “What the fuck do you want to drink?” Then, she lets go of my collar and shoves me back.
For a tiny woman, she’s got a lot of strength.
I laugh. “Whiskey on the rocks.”
“How manly of you,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“What can I say?” I retort.
She’s beginning to grow on me. I like her. By now, I’m bored of the damsels in distress, and this one doesn’t seem the damsel type.
