He was middle-aged, a little heavy around the waist, with thinning brown hair. Not creepy—more like a sitcom dad with a steady job and kids at home. Not what I had pictured when I thought of what kind of man would try to approach me first—Erich made it sound like it would be an old pervert looking for an easy lay. Especially if the easy lay was much younger than he was.
He frowned slightly at my outfit but didn’t question it. He took a long swig of his beer, barely letting himself enjoy it as if he believed it would start to disappear on him or someone would take it. Maybe it was some kind of awkward tick where he needed to do something with his hands? It was a lucky break for me.
“So a pretty young lady wears a man’s jacket and hangs out at a bar on a weeknight. You must be crazy fun in bed.”
There it was. Exactly what Erich predicted.
It took everything in me not to run. Either he’d already been drinking, or something wasn’t right with him to say that so quickly.
I forced the smallest smile I could manage and let out a light, fake laugh. “After a few drinks, I’m fun anywhere.”
He set his beer down. I had his full attention.
He hesitated, then picked it back up and took an even longer drink, nearly finishing it.
How many had he already had? Was I doing this right? Did I say what he wanted to hear?
He seemed nervous—fidgety.
So how was I supposed to keep this going?
I picked up the brandy I had set aside earlier, holding it gracefully and with poise, like I learned to do with sparkling grape juice more than ten years ago. I brought it to my lips and sipped gently, careful not to smear my lipstick, yet fighting the urge to flinch or hiss from the sting.
The last thing I needed was for my somewhat scabbed lip to burst open and for red lipstick and blood to start gushing over the bar. I set the glass back down quietly, saying nothing. The ball was in his court, and I didn’t want to ruin my advantage with my last comment.
“Well… those are my favorite kinds of ladies.” He waved over the bartender, who seemed to already expect he was waiting for round two and grabbed another long-neck bottle. He repeated the process of popping off the cap and sliding it over to the dad-gone-bad before returning to what he had been doing—avoiding the situation altogether.
I fingered the rim of my glass, watching the tip of my pointer finger slide over the smooth edge as he shakily grabbed his new bottle. I flashed another smile in his direction. I had to be careful not to let this get out of control. I could easily become the type who lets newly found confidence go to my head.
“Do you say that to all the lonely girls you find at the bar?” I asked, trying to keep a hint of interest in my voice. I never knew if I was good at acting or not. I hoped I was—and that he didn’t see through my facade and realize how sickened I actually was.
He shook his head, sweat glistening on his brow—not from the heat of the room. I worried he might drop dead from a heart attack with how much his forehead shone every time I glanced at him.
I kept my expression steady, focusing on him while pretending I was speaking to someone else. Keeping him engaged took effort, and one of the scenarios I clung to was imagining I was Marilyn Monroe and he was John F. Kennedy.
Across the room, Erich’s eyes felt like they could burn through my disguise as he leaned on a pool stick, waiting his turn. I didn’t move my gaze to meet his. It would be a shame to lose focus and have the man next to me see me glancing across the room to my actual “date”. That could break whatever hold I currently have over him.
I sighed and flipped my hair back, mimicking what I’d seen on TV—women pretending boredom to draw men in. I had never tried anything like it before and wasn’t sure if I could pull it off. Fortunately, it seemed to work. He leaned forward, suddenly anxious about losing my attention.
“So… um… are you from here?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation alive.
“No,” I answered shortly. “I’m just in town for the night. Trying to make my way to New York City…” I trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought.
“To be an actress?” he offered.
“Yes.” I let out a small, accidental giggle. “It’s been my dream since I was little… get rich, see the world, be famous.”
He continued drinking at an alarming pace, his face flushed but not quite slurring yet. “You’re definitely pretty enough.”
I plastered a sad smile, lifting my glass delicately and swirling the ice. “Prettiness doesn’t get you far when you’re broke.” I wasn’t sure where that came from, but it worked.
His eyes widened. “Well… that’s too bad.” The bartender placed another open bottle in front of him without being called, taking the empties away. “Are you… looking to make money?”
A loud curse rang out near the pool tables, followed by a fist slamming down.
I knew where this was going—Erich had warned me. Steal when they don’t know what hit them. He didn’t think I was ready for anything more dangerous. But it felt easy. Too easy. Go home with a drunk man, take what I could, leave.
What did I really have left to lose?
