All I can think is:I need to talk to that woman again.
I wait patiently—until, finally, I get my chance. After nursing my drink and keeping an eye on the bombshell beauty, I notice her friend getting up from her seat. The friend grabs her purse, kisses the bombshell’s cheeks, and then she’s flitting through the crowd and out the door.
I jump up and cross the room lightning-quick. I’m not letting her out of my sight without aiming for a second impression.
As casually as I can manage, I slip into the now unoccupied chair.
“This time, I’m not sorry for bothering you,” I say.
She looks up from her phone, startled to see me—but tentatively amused. I take that as an invitation to continue.
“But you’ll ruin your streak,” she says after a beat.
“I’ll live.” I lean back in my seat and take a sip from my glass. “Besides, I can’t leave a beautiful woman sitting alone in here. There are sharks in the water,” I joke, motioning to the gaggles of similarly dressed men with bad haircuts surrounding us.
“Hmm.” She tilts her head to the side. “Last I checked, I could handle myself—especially among ‘sharks’.” She punctuates this last word with air quotes.
Then she says, “Speaking of sharks, why are you dressed like a gang member fromWest Side Story?”
We both look down at my outfit: leather jacket, white shirt, cuffed jeans, and leather boots. I run a hand over my hair and give it a pat. “You like it?”
“It’s certainly a choice,” she says.
I shrug. “Better than looking like every other guy in here, don’t you think? Maybe I like to stand out a little bit.”
Now it’s her turn to shrug.
“Bet you never have to worry about that, though. You’re probably the most gorgeous girl in every room you enter.”
Her mouth drops into a small O, and I beam, pleased with catching her off guard.
“What a fucking line.”
“Got more where that came from. I’ll share with the class if you let me buy you a drink.”
She narrows her eyes at me behind her cat-eye glasses, considering. “Fine.”
And that’s how I captured an audience with the most beautiful girl in the room.
I hustle to the bar and get two more drinks, peeking back every few seconds to make sure she isn’t going to ditch me. Her eyes stay on me, mouth twisted into a funny little pout every time I look back, but she doesn’t leave. Maybe—just maybe—she’s as curious about me as I am about her.
Could I be so lucky?
I slide a sweaty glass across the table, and she takes it. Then, quick as anything, she lifts her phone and snaps a picture ofme. The bright flash of it nearly blinds me. “Aaugh, what are you doing!?”
“Taking your picture in case you try anything shady so the cops can find you and bring you to justice.”
“Smart chick,” I say with a grin.
“Don’t call me a chick.” She takes a swig of the drink I got her and immediately gags.
“What the hell is this?”
“You don’t like Long Island Iced Teas?”
“Ew, no—I’m not an Arizona housewife at an Applebee’s happy hour in the nineties,” she coughs before taking another sip.
“That’s so…specific.”
