His eyes stared at me across from the bar where he sat downing shot after shot of what seemed to be straight vodka; I suppose he was one of those people that didn’t like variety. I examined the distance between his stool and mine. By my estimates it should take him probably…twenty-five steps to reach where I am sitting. Finishing off my Martini I also figured that was about two steps per drink he had ingested tonight, and I’m sure when he came over he wouldn’t be inquiring about me being his designated driver…or maybe in a sense, he would. I laughed beneath the flashing blue and green lights shining on my section of the bar and ordered up another martini, I’m sure this was his cue.

“Bartender, put that on my tab,” he said. He walked over, surprisingly without stumbling or swaying. Had I been with anyone but myself I’d have clapped at such a feat. His brown hair hung low in his eyes framing his pale skin and perfect jaw line. The rolled up sleeves of his striped, dress shirt showed his build was nothing more than that of a teenaged boy, not nearly as bulky as most of the men that frequented this club, and his light, denim, jeans hung low on his hips. He wore a pair of brightly-colored Nikes with the bottom of his jeans tucked behind the tongue of each shoe. So maybe I misjudged him based on appearance but, I was sure there still would be little to no intelligence behind the completely gorgeous attire.

My martini was ready and setting in front of my elbow resting on the bar top by the time he sat down next to me.

“And to what do I owe the honor?” I said sarcastically, gesturing at the untouched martini.

“Does a woman ever need a reason to have a drink on me?” he said in an almost arrogant manor, but I’m sure by the sincerity on his face he meant that in a sarcastic way. It was probably the best line he could come up with in such a drunken state.

“Well, let’s just hope it was as good as the last one,” and I took a sip.

“And…” He looked patiently at me, like I was really going to talk about how the martini tasted. Martinis burn too much to have a taste, and the odds of it tasting any different from the last one were slim to none.

I paused before continuing our conversation, and to let the martini settle in with the rest of the alcohol in my stomach. “What is it you really want with me anyway? Certainly you didn’t come over to talk to me about martinis because obviously you’re no connoisseur…drinking those shots over there.” I gulped down the rest of my martini and slipped the olive off the end of the sword.

He laughed loudly, turning his head to the side. When I said nothing more he turned to face me again with a smile that parted his lips just enough. “I see you’d do better to wear a shirt with shiny spikes rather than those sparkling sequins.” With that he turned on the stool and stood up beside. “Okay…” he let out a loud sigh like he was being forced to keep standing there me and leaned close to my ear. “I definitely would fuck you based on appearance, but I already knew before I came over to you I wouldn’t even get you into my car. I’d really just like to talk with you in a place less conspicuous so if you could make this easier and just pretend, for a moment, I’m asking you the former and follow me out to my car…”

I turned my head at an angle, inches away from his face and looked up at his green eyes which were as serious as the words he spoke hastily. Perhaps it was the vodka finally hitting me or just the temptation to do something without reserve but, regardless, I slid my hands over his shirt and wrapped my arms around his neck. I pressed my lips lightly against his ear, “Lead the way.”

He pulled out a plastic credit card and handed it to the bartender and quickly we exited the crowded club. He grasped my hand tightly and cleared a path through the people. The bouncer at the door nodded in our direction; his long dreads shook slightly. There was a scar visible on his right cheek.