I arrived at the bar early. I do that. I hate being late, plus I didn't know how long it would take to get there since I was completely unfamiliar with this part of the city.
The bar had only been open for a few hours and wasn't busy yet. It was a long and narrow room with a few low tables and cozy chairs in groupings near the door, a few high tops along the red brick wall on the right and an L-shaped bar was on the left. High ceilings and old, worn wood floors. It was small and would probably max out at 100 people. This place had character. I liked the feel of it.
Two bartenders were behind the bar discussing the specials for the evening and there were two guys at a hightop having what looked like business meeting. The attractive one, a tall, lean, super fit black man, held my gaze as I walked in and smiled at me. Hmmm, I guess I look ok then, I told myself.
I took a seat at the bar near a big floor fan so it was blowing on me. It was warm and humid out and I was a little nervous. I studied the specials on the chalkboard and looked over their large selection of bourbon and craft beer. The female bartender was chatty as she prepared fruit and glasses for the evening to come. She talked me into trying her Valencia Margarita and I sipped it slowly, wanting to make it last until he arrived. Then I had a water and waited still.
As I was wondering if I was being stood up, my phone vibrated. A text: traffics a bitch still 15 min away dont leave :)
Fifteen minutes...here's my chance to bolt. What am I even doing here? I mean, I had been a little buzzed when I first saw him at another bar a few weeks ago. I'd been out with a group of friends and he and I had exchanged some serious eye contact and smiles. I was sure he had been watching me while I was on the dance floor with my girl friends. Feeling bold, I'd written my phone number on a napkin and dropped it on his lap as I passed by his table, on my way out the door. Three days later he sent me a text and we'd been chatting, well...flirting ever since.
A million things going through my mind now. What if he was drunk that night and doesn't like what he sees when he comes in? What if I don't like what I see?
I was just about to panic when he walked through the door.
Oh my, he's beautiful and he's smiling at me. He's wearing a black t-shirt that's straining against his pecs and biceps. Heavy fabric khaki pants and work boots. He had told me he would be coming straight from work, however I didn't even know what kind of work he did.
He walked straight over to me and kissed me on the cheek. Fifty-five minutes late...all forgiven.
"Let's get a drink. What would you like?" He asked. As the bartender walks over, he orders a Four Roses Old Fashioned.
"Oh that sounds good, I'll have the same" I said.
At his suggestion, we take our drinks out the back door and sit on the tiny patio in the shade of the building. It was still warm out but there was a nice breeze making it very comfortable.
Our conversation flowed easily and we covered a variety of subjects. Tonight's venue being one because I wanted to know how he knew about this place. We talked about bourbon, motorcycles, kids, divorce...he went in and got us another round.
Our conversation continues and I discover he is 12 years my younger. He is surprised and I take that as a compliment.
From under his ball cap I can see his sandy blonde hair is cut short. His beard is short and scruffy with a tinge of grey. Sparkling blue eyes that I can't stop looking at and a contagious smile. His left arm has a full sleeve of colorful ink and there's a tattoo with a name and date under his right tricep that I noticed when he leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. Yikes! I'd like to touch his arms. They look yummy.
We are sitting facing each other. My tanned legs are crossed and extended toward him, close enough for him to touch if he wanted. I'm hoping he would reach out, but he doesn't.
The more we talk, the more I like him. He seems genuine and truly nice. If nothing else, I may have found a new friend.
It starts to rain so we take our empty glasses inside. He goes to the bar as gets us another round. There's a different bartender now and we agree later that this drink is much better than the first two.
While he was at the bar, I pick one of the low tables near the door, away from the small crowd that's now gathered at the bar. Turning my chair to face his, my short skirt exposes a little more of my long legs. I'll give him another chance to put his hand on my leg, I think to myself.
