“No rush,” I assure the bartender. My first job when I wasa teenager was being a server, so I know first-hand just how difficult and tiring the job can be.
“Sorry.” The bartender slings a damp towel over her shoulder, having to shout to be heard over the music. “What can I get ya?”
I flick two fingers up in gesture. “Just two beers please.”
She pours them with ease, filling the beer glasses up to the top with frothy amber liquid and taking my ten-pound note when I hand it over.
Sam swallows two mouthfuls down while I pocket my change, almost missing my back jean pocket entirely when my friend elbows me in the ribs.
“Wh—”
“I thought Cinderella only had one shoe?”
I lift my head to see who on earth he’s talking to, feeling my lungs constrict when I realise it’sher.
If it’s even at all possible, she’s even more pretty up close.
With her blonde hair, doe like blue eyes, and hourglass figure, I don’t believe for one second, that she’s single. Any sane man would snap her up in a heartbeat, but I don’t see a ring on her manicured left hand.
I watch as she straightens up at the sight of Sam and I, swallowing down the rest of the liquid in her glass until only the dregs remain. In the lowlight of the bar, I can just make out the imprint her lips leave behind on the rim; a unique set of forked lines and swirls that only belong to her.
The tip of her pink tongue darts out. I can’t help but follow the movement, the sheen of her pretty looking lips.
I bet they taste sweet.
Every inch of her.
“What’s your name?” Her voice is pitched lower than I expected; smoky, a little bit husky too but that might be fromhaving to shout to be heard over the loud music emanating from the DJ booth.
For a split second, I think she’s directing her question to Sam; he’s the one who spoke to her first, after all. But then I feel her pretty eyes on me, dancing over my figure, leaving a trail of heat behind and my cock perks up in interest.
“I see how it is,” I hear Sam say. “Leave him in one piece, won’t ya?”
She narrows her eyes until they’re cat-like, a smirk tiptoeing across her lips. “Maybe I will… maybe I won’t.”
My fingers slip against the cool material of my beer glass, my heart thumping against the protective bone of my ribcage. I don’t even try to hide the smile overtaking my face, nor the slight raise of my eyebrows; I didn’t think Cinderella had it in her but colour me surprised.
Sam laughs loudly, slapping me on the back hard, before he walks away. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him enfold himself back into the group.
“Do you have a name or are you going to make me work for—”
This woman.
She has no fucking clue what I’d like to make her work for… although I bet she could take a guess.
I open my mouth, tongue rounding over the vowels in my name. “Blake.”
“Blake,” she repeats with a wild grin.
I swallow back a small mouthful of yeasty beer, noticing the way her eyes watch the bob of my throat.
“And what is it youdo, Blake?”
“I’m a sports coach at a high school.”
“Hm.” She hums noncommittedly, placing her empty glass on the sticky bar top to be collected. Her hands come down to her sides, fingers curling and uncurling as if shedoesn’t quite know what to do with them now, she doesn’t have an object to hold.
Taking a step forward, an inch or so, I move forward into her orbit. Here, further away from the speakers, we can actually hear each other talk. “Do I get the honour of knowing your name? Or would you rather I guess?”
