I'm used to eyes on me, but today I can feel them caressing me, following each lift of my legs, each sway of my hips. It's as though Max's eyes have the power to physically touch me, though, so now I'm struggling to stay relaxed. My stomach flips around with nerves. It takes all my strength to not glance over at him.
Once I'm finally at the bar, I lean against it. It provides a semblance of protection from the eyes that were following me so intimately only moments before.
I smile at the beautiful white toothy grin of the Balinese man polishing glasses.
"Can I please get a mimosa... Sorry...Jus jeruk and sampagne. Terima kasih."
His whole face brightens. "Yes,wanita cantik."
I'm not sure what that means, but he begins to pour me a drink.
A stranger on the bar stool beside me presses his shoulder to mine for a split second. "He said, beautiful lady."
"Oh." I smile at the stranger, whose accent is clearly Australian. "That's nice of him."
His grin slants. "Nah, he's just being honest."
I try to ignore the fact that this man is quite attractive, but my blush gives it away. Laughing awkwardly, I say, "Terima kasih."
He cracks up. "You're fucking adorable. Can I buy you a drink?"
"No," I state respectfully. "I can buy my own. Thank you, though."
"Come on, I've got a mining wage burning a hole in mypocket and no one to share it with. It's like 0.20c. Let me buy you a drink."
I roll my eyes. "Okay, sure."
"Sweet. I'll pay for her drink and any others she orders." He swivels to face me. "Where you from?"
The bartender places a mimosa in front of me.
"The District."
He nods, one of his eyebrows raised. "Yeah, in WA?"
I grab the glass and take a sip. It’s considerably stronger than what we'd get back home. "Yeah." Standing on my tippy toes, I slide up onto a stool and cross my legs. A bead of sweat drips down my hairline as I study his tanned, rugged face. He's as flushed and as sweaty as I am.
"I went there once," he says. "Some bloody good restaurants in that area."
My chair swivels slightly as I relax into the conversation. "There are. And museums and theatres. We're...arty." I giggle nervously; he seems to like it because his grin gets wider. "I mean, we'recultured. I'm an idiot. Sometimes I say silly things."
Stranger chuckles. "I haven't heard you say anything silly."
"Give her time," I hear Max say, his big form appearing in my peripheral vision.
My head turns towards him like a magnetic attraction and I stare at his naked, tattooed torso. His muscles shift hypnotically as he moves, and—oh frick—he's so close now I can see the beads of sweat on his chest.
I swallow hard. "Yes, Max?"
He stops right in front of me, unapologetically raking my body. "Tell me, Little One, did they run out of fabric while making those bathers?"
Stranger leans on the bar. "Hey, man, don't ruin it for the rest of us."
Max's biceps twitch.
I try to remain calm. "Just ignore me if you don't like my bathers."
His eyes are fixed on mine. "I didn’t say I didn’t like them." He signals the bartender. "A mimosa and a Jameson neat."
