Not a fan of waiting. Seriously, I hate it. I even arrived a few minutes late in the hopes he would've already been here, but nope.
My eyes scan the dimly lit bar, looking for any sign that he's here, while I awkwardly fidget in my seat. Yeah, I'm that girl, uncomfortable around other people, hell, I'm uncomfortable in my own skin.
Not a single person in here comes close to looking like him, so I turn my attention back out the window. I'm glad I chose this table, at least I've got something to look at, other than everyone else's fun.
God I'm so nervous. I feel like once you've been talking to someone for this long, without actually meeting, there's a high chance of someone being let down. I was terrified he wouldn't like me in real life. But now, as the minutes tick by, it's looking more likely that I'm being stood up.
My paranoia is getting the better of me, I can't shake the feeling of being watched. I don't know why, or what's making me feel this way, but the thought still sends shudders up my spine. I anxiously swirl the final few drops of whiskey remaining in my glass, damn, I really didn't want to be on my second drink before he's arrived.
"Excuse me," A deep voice comes from over my shoulder, I jump a little, "is this seat taken?" Not him. Fuck. Where is he? Checking my watch tells me I've already been waiting twenty minutes, so I decide to go ahead and order another drink. If he's not here by the time I'm finished, I'm outta here.
As always though, the whiskey makes me feel all hot and flushed. I remove my long, black coat and hang it over my chair.
I really struggled to know what to wear tonight. Not very often am I headed out, purely for the purpose of sex. I'm quite glad I didn't go with my original idea, though it did sound fun; the coat, with nothing but lingerie underneath.
The lacy black bra and panties from that thought are still under there, just covered up, mostly.
Pretty sure I nearly tried on my whole wardrobe, trying to find the perfect outfit.
The V neck of my long sleeved, grey dress reveals just enough cleavage, along with a tiny hint of lace, and the tightfitting, clingy fabric shows every curve I own. The modest hemline coming down over my knees and clinging to my calves, makes me feel a little secretary-esque.
The heels on my black ankle boots make a strange noise against the bar's sticky floor, my nerves beginning to emerge in the form of foot tapping. I can't stand this. Every time the door opens, I flinch, flinging my head around in it's direction. It's beginning to look quite obvious, even to everyone around me, that I'm being stood up. The bartender keeps sending me fake sympathy looks. Shit. I should never have said I was waiting for someone.
Fuck this, I'm not hanging around any longer. The 'feel sorry for the lonely girl' stares are growing old, and the lingering feeling of being watched is getting creepier by the second. Goosebumps prickle across my skin at the thought. I finish the rest of my glass in one swallow, sending a fuzzy warmth down to my belly.
"Aww, you off?" Sympathetic asshole, I mean, the bartender, says. I give him a quick nod, smiling as I walk out the door. But on the inside, I'm giving him a double middle-fingered salute.
As I exit the doors, and cross the carpark to my car, I notice a tall, dark figure, standing next to it. I turn my head, looking every direction, are there any people around? If I scream, will anyone hear me? The music cranking from the bar would probably drown me out.
"Hi," The almost menacing tone to his voice startles me, "you look beautiful."
