The first time I noticed him.... wait, scratch that... the first time I noticed him it was because he noticed me... had been watching me the entire evening, laughing with my friends, giggling over who dropped trou when they got drunk, who told the boss to Fuck Off.
He came up to me, later, as I was up at the bar, getting a refill on my diet coke. I wasn't drinking that night... designated driver and all that. He was drinking a soda as well, I noticed, calloused hands gripping his Coke can.
"So you like attention, don't you." He growled, a little near my ear.
"Excuse me?" I said, a little shocked that this man, anyone really, had the nerve to come up behind me when I was ordering a drink like that, get so close to my hair, my face, close enough that I could smell him. He smelled faintlyof pine needles and woodsmoke.
"You like attention. I watched you. You were looking at that man up there, you licked your lips and when he looked at you, you smiled."
I blushed. I had been looking at a rather sexy man in tight Levis about fifteen minutes earlier, staring at him, willing him to look at me so I could flash my eyes at him. He did, and I immediately looked away. When I had looked back, he was completely engaged in a conversation with the bartender. So it usually goes. The story of my life, actually.
I turned to him. He stood an easy six foot two. He was older than me, but not by much. He had the look of someone who spent a lot of time in the outdoors, working with their hands. Instead of the leather bomber jackets which were out in force at this yuppy haven pub, he wore a flannel jacket. His eyes were black, reflective, in them I could see the white Christmas lights behind me.
"Doesn't every girl enjoy attention?" I said, trying to be witty.
"I wouldn't know." He said, in an even calm tone, looking directly into my eyes, making me feel a little naked.
I have an impressive set of breasts. I know it. The world knows it. Let's get that up front right now. (bad pun) And when I meet someone, men or women, they usually take some kind of look at my breasts. The amount of time spent looking at my breasts is actually a good barometer of how much I'll like or trust someone, actually. If the guy can't stop looking at my tits, fuck him. He's an ass.
But this one. I don't know that he ever even glanced downward. His eyes never left mine. He continued to stare into my eyes until the pit of my stomach felt warm and fluttery.
"Are you with someone tonight?" He asked.
I nodded to the table of female coworkers, gabbing at the table, half in the bad and probably not even realizing I had walked away. "Yep" I said. "Them"
"That's not what I meant." He said, the corners of his lips turning up slightly in a bemused grin.
Another blush. He meant a man. Was I with someone. I hated bar pick ups. I didn't believe in them.
"I'm married." I said, lying, starting to shake off the experience, grabbing my diet Coke and soggy napkin, about to take a step away.
He reached out and took my glass from me. "Here... allow me." He said, walking in the other direction. I stood there, mouth agape, watching him walk away with my soda.
He stopped, looked back at me, and nodded patiently for me to follow him to his table across the bar. I looked back at the table of my friends. One was leaning, whispering to another one about a third girl at the table. No one cared that I was or was not sitting with them.
I watched as he reached his table, set my soda down in front of the empty stool, then he sat down opposite it and took a swig from his own soda, watching me the entire time.
What could one drink hurt? I thought. My friends are right there, in full view. He's not a drunk. Plus, he was the complete opposite of the normal patron of this place, all overly starched yuppies and wannabes sporting cell phones and digital phones and palm pilots and the like, drinking microbrews, trying to combine getting laid with a business deal for maximum efficiency.
I walked over to him, conscious that his eyes never left me during the twenty steps I took to reach his table.
"Thank you." He said. "I'm glad you decided to join me."
"I had no choice!" I said, half-joking. "You took off with my drink."
"You had a choice. We all have choices. But if you want to believe that you are powerless, I won't discourage you from that."
I looked at him. He said it so calmly, as if someone had asked him what time it was. It was such an affront. I wasn't used to people talking to me that way!
"I'm not sure what you're talking about."
"It's obvious." He said, leaning against the wall. "You would rather claim innocence than admit that you wanted to follow me, wanted to talk with me more."
"I am totally innocent." I laughed.
He didn't laugh. "Does one glass of fountain soda hold that much power over you? That's ok. I don't want to discourage that misconception... yet. What's your name?"
"Lola." I said.
"Lola. That's the name on your birth certificate?"
"No. It isn't, if you must know."
"I must."
"My real name is Lauren. But people call me Lola."
"Like that song.... wasn't she a whore?"
"With yellow feathers in her hair? Depends on which song you mean.... there was another song where Lola was a cross-dresser."
"I'm not concerned... I know a perfect woman when I see one." He said, for the first time acknowledging that I was a female, making me sit up straighter, feeling immediately awkward and conscious of my body, which WAS NOT perfect.
"If you want a perfect woman, I can point out which ones are single over at that table over there... there's at least three of them who have perfect bodies.... that blonde could crack a walnut with her thighs!" I said, using humor to inneffectivly ward off my self-conscious feelings.
His eyes never left mine. "I already see what I want." He said.
I said nothing. My eyes dropped to the table immediately and my cheeks immediately flushed and became warm.
"Why did you tell me you were married?" He said, looking at my ringless hand. "I know you're not."
He was right. I wasn't.
(to be continued)
