I’m debating whether or not to buy her a drink when I see Brando enter over her shoulder. He takes a few steps into the bar, spends a couple of seconds dancing up against a drunk girl, then makes his way over to me. He’s shouting his order to the barman from across the room.
That’s Brando’s style. Loud, full of life, and always attracting attention.
“Hey, Jax,” he says, locking hands, “you feelin’ good tonight?” He shoots an appreciative glance at the woman beside me and she returns it.
Brando’s from Brooklyn. He’s got dark hair, dark eyes, tan skin, and he plays up his Italian roots every chance he gets. He likes to say he speaks French and Italian, but I think his knowledge begins and ends with the lyrics to old disco songs.
“Depends which girl I’m feeling,” I say.
Me; I’m more about finesse. I like well-made suits that fit right, places that look as good as I do, and women with an appetite. When my clothes are on, I’m the sharpest guy in the room, and once they’re off, I’m the kind of man who will make you feel like you’ve only fucked boys before. The kind of man who makes the pale imitations that follow feel like a compromise. The kind of man your mind will wander to when you’re naked in the bath…
“Who’s this pretty young thing?” Brando says, turning to face the curvy girl.
“I didn’t get her name yet,” I say, giving Brando the in. “But I was just about to.”
“It’s Sophie,” she purrs.
I rub my left eyebrow – it’s the sign me and Brando have for ‘she’s all yours’ - and turn towards the club.
Dancing bodies writhe around me as I slice my way through the club. I let my eyes wander from toned legs to swerving hips. I run my hand across a girl’s waist as I pass and she licks her lips at me. Another throws her arms around my neck and leads me to a corner, where she rolls her body up against mine like she’s auditioning for a strip joint. She puts her lips on my neck, then pulls back and smiles. I smile back, wink, and pull away – too easy.
I’m toying with the idea of a threesome, between the blonde bombshell who’s towering over her friends in the middle of the dancefloor, and the slim chick with an ankle tattoo.
And then it happens.
The entire club disappears. The girls, the bar, the music. All that’s left is a woman with a body that’s perfect. She’s wearing clothes, but her ass is so tight in that skirt, the arch of her back so sexual, that looking at her feels pornographic. It’s like a hit of LSD to the eyes, and I’m seeing a vision of the future. Wavy brown hair flying back in ecstasy, teardrop breasts bouncing in rhythm, my hands tight around that slim waist, guiding it like a loaded missile.
Remember when I said my clothes fit well? Well I could do with a few extra inches in my boxers right about now.
I get close enough to her to see her lips, and I’m already thinking of all the ways she could worship me with them.
She sees me, and I lock on to a pair of brown eyes that could kill a lesser man from ten yards away. She has a couple of friends nearby, but I don’t give a shit about them, and soon, neither will she.
She’s drinking a gin and tonic with lemon, and I’m jealous of the glass between her lips. I lightly grip her elbow, and she tilts her head up towards me.
“I saw you an hour ago, and since then, I’ve been unable to focus on any other woman in this bar,” I say.
She smirks. “That’s a lie.”
“You’re right, that’s a lie. I just set eyes on you, and I already know you’re the most attractive woman I’ll see all night.”
“Well there are always other nights.” She absently tongues the lemon peel on the rim of her glass and my pulse rockets to Mach 3.
I smile. She’s sassy, but she can’t break her eyes away from me. New tactic: cut the bullshit and go direct.
“You owe it to that amazing body of yours to give it to someone who knows how to make the most of it.” I cock an eyebrow. I’ve been told this is sexy as fuck by women who’d know, and I rarely feel the need to fight fair.
She opens her mouth in mock-shock.
“I’m serious,” I continue, “I don’t think you know what you have here.”
“Maybe not,” she says, “but my boyfriend sure does.”
I reel back, comically, “Oh! A boyfriend? Now that’s a real sin. Putting all of that,” I look her up and down, “in the hands of just one man. Especially when that man isn’t me.”
The girl looks to her friends, whose eyes are still on me. Waiting for me to switch my attention to them. Not going to happen.
“Thanks for the advice,” she says, shoving her friends away, “I’ll let my boyfriend know he’s not good enough for me.”
“Oh he knows,” I say, as she walks away.
She turns, about to say something, but instead just looks at me, gives me a funny sideways smile, and walks off with her friends. Game Over. For now.