It was not often the bartender saw a woman as beautiful as her. When she slipped into the hotel's bar, virtually every head in the room turned.
She was dressed in a short, yet tasteful black dress, a small leather clutch in one hand. Her legs were perfectly shaped, and met with her hips, dipped into her waist for a shapely hourglass figure.
Her cleavage was well formed, with what looked like large, but not huge breasts that moved with her gracefully. Her long, crimson locks draped down with their luxurious soft curls to about her mid-back.
Her heels clicked politely as she walked, and she went down to the quiet end of the bar, away from the television screens blaring the Mariners game, and eased onto a barstool, her eyes playing up to the CNN broadcast.
The bartender was standing at the opposite side, having just filled a scotch order from a short, heavy-set, nearly bald man who had introduced himself as Henry, an insurance salesman from Hoboken, New Jersey in town for the convention.
"Who's that?" Henry asked, breathlessly.
"I have no idea," the bartender said.
"She's beautiful," Henry said, staring.
"Yeah and defiantly out of your league," the bartender said.
"Hey," Henry said, nearly squalling.
"Look dude, I see it all the time. Pretty girl comes in, she soaks you for some drinks, plays with your head, and then she goes to powder her nose. Save yourself the heartache. Save your wife the heartache too." He said.
"How do you know I'm married?" He asked.
"You may have taken the ring off, but you've still got the mark from it on your hand. I see it, she'll see it."
Howard glared at him.
"Hey, fine, whatever man. I'm just trying to save you some grief."
"Whatever," Henry said, and ordered another double scotch.
The bartender brought it to him, and then chided himself. He certainly killed Henry's tip, but he wanted a crack at the redhead for himself. Softly, he slid a napkin in front of her, and gave her his winning smile.
"What can I get for you, miss?" He inquired.
She smiled at him, with well-formed, crimson lips that shined softly.
"Traditional Martini," She said her voice throaty and breathy. She looked him straight in the eyes and batted her long, thick eyelashes at him.
"Coming right up," He said, smiling back.
Yes indeed, tonight would be his lucky night. He could keep her going with drinks, maybe get off early, and take her home. It was a Thursday and only a couple of the regulars were in. They wouldn't care if he closed about ten. He could get her back to his studio and peel that little black dress right off.
He juggled the bottles with a flourish and rolled the Martini Mixer in his hands, giving her a spectacular performance. He knew she was watching her, out of the corner of his eye, they always did.
Henry the insurance salesman glared at the performance.
The Martini was delivered to her with nary a drop spilled and she smiled by turning up the corner of one of her lips. Her left hand was in her lap and she sipped softly at it, holding the bowl of the glass in her perfectly chiseled acrylic nails.
He hovered over her for just that extra amount time to make sure that she was enjoying her drink.
She looked at him sexily as the mixture of alcohols entered her mouth. She sipped petitely and made a soft slurping noise as the glass pulled away from her lips.
"Is that okay?" He asked in his home-down, folksy manner.
"Just fine, sugar," she replied, again in the breathy tone.
He smiled back at her, thinking to himself that yes indeed, that he was going to get lucky. He wandered back to Henry who had nearly finished the scotch.
Henry just beckoned his fingers at him and pointed to the scotch.
"'Nother double?" He asked, with a smug look on his face.
"Yeah, yeah." Henry said. He tried to straighten out his rumpled shirt and squared his tie some. The bartender brought him scotch and a bowl of popcorn as a consolation prize.
Henry the insurance man grunted at him, and muttered something, drinking at the scotch.
"What's that, Henry old boy?" The Bartender said.
"Send her a drink," He said.
The bartender snickered and said, "Hey it's your nickel."
With no flourish, no razzle, nor dazzle, he presented her the second drink saying, "It's from that guy down there."
She arched a brow at him, and then looked in the bar mirror to try to say who she was talking about.
"You mean the guy by the entrance, next to the pool table?" She asked.
"No, the guy down the end of the bar." She tilted her head and saw a man standing at the bar's rail waiting to be served.
"Him? In the blue shirt?" She whispered.
"No, farther down. The insurance salesman." The bartender said flatly.
Her mouth opened partially, to make the letter, 'o'. The bartender shivered slightly, imagining those lips wrapped around his cock.
She tilted her head a bit more, to meet Henry's eyes.
