A Pic-up That Lined up to a Hooup

Author's note: This is my story, I wrote it, stealing is lame. If you don't like it, don't read it. Thanks for any feedback, votes, or favorites. This is the whole story at once. All characters are over eighteen. Hope you enjoy:

*

"Hello there." The newly arrived average man was doing just as she expected, and he started off with the greeting.

"Excuse me?" Bridgette would be having none of this, not tonight; her bitch face was on in full force, masking the rest of her from prying eyes.

She just wanted to get drunk, arrested, or kicked out of the bar; all three would be better.

"I said: 'Hello there.' " The man spoke calmly, cutting through the erratic music.

"I heard you." Smug would be a good word for the tone.

"Then why did you say: 'Excuse me?' " The quite average, not so handsome, and blatantly too bold fellow asked Bridgette.

"Because I thought it was obvious that I didn't want to talk to you."

"I want to talk to you, and it's only obvious that you need a friend." The average man pointed to the two empty shot glasses with the dollar in front of her on the bar, and the half empty all brown liquor glass in her hand.

"Bourbon?" he asked.

Bridgette, for the first time in a long while, looked around from her seat at the bar. All she could see were flicking lights, backs, asses, far off VIP seating, a DJ, and hair. There could only be one explanation.

"Did you come over here just to bother me? Let me guess.. You've been watching me from afar and I'm sooo beautiful, blah blah blah..." She was spinning the glass in both of her hands, watching gravity work on the liquid and ignoring the average man, ready to cry.

"Actually I came over here to get a drink. You're the one who picked that seat." His words made her bitch face real, and she turned to him with all intentions of yelling in his face.

...but then she saw his eyes.

The average man had a gaze to melt a heart; a gaze that said: "You can only hurt yourself at this point."

Only a whimper, or a loud breath, but only a syllable, came from Bridgette's mouth while she lost herself - and the bitch face - to his eyesight for a moment. She could only take so much, though, and she stared down towards his belt, then at the part of the bar in front of where he leaned, and then to her glass, again. He was well dressed in a white tailored collared shirt with undone cuffs, and his dirty blonde hair was a mess.

"Why are you talking to me then?" She said, resetting the glass to spinning in her hands, taking the idle sip at random.

"Because you picked that seat." With that, the average man finger-called the nearby bartender: A happy, overly perky, overly blonde young woman, dressed in tight black and white.

"Hey there, handsome, what can I get you?" The bartender bounced her big chest when she arrived, and after she spoke; she was tip hunting, cleavage out.

"Two tall shots of Tuaca and a gin and tonic, top shelf, with a lime." The average man dropped a crisp fifty on the bar after folding a crease along the length of it's center; the cash seemed to appear from nowhere.

"You got it, cutie," the bartender bounced away.

"What? You're not even going to attempt to buy me a drink?" Bridgette said indignantly in the quietest whisper, eliciting no response from the average man short of his turned head, in spite of the fact that he had heard her. He was still leaning on the bar.

"So what's you name?" The average man asked, using his free hand to spin the coaster the bartender had left.

"Seriously?" Bridgette, all appalled, looked his way again. She could not give him the bitch face this time around; she just did not have enough left, and Bridgette was almost becoming glad for the distraction he provided. She was tired enough for this, but just so.

"Don't you want to know my name?" The average man asked as the bartender came back with his drinks. Amazingly, she had spilled something on her chest, oh so very near to where her nipple would be.

"Sure, handsome.. What is it?" the bartender spoke while snagging his money from the bar and bouncing to the nearby register.

"He wasn't talking to you," Bridgette said in her head, silently, to herself, about to start a catfight with the blonde bimbo, her total opposite from chest to skin.

"Don't spoil it, lady," the average man said to the bartender - loud enough to be heard over the terrible club music; just loud enough to snap up Bridgette's attention. Her overly fluffy, crinkled and shimmering, coffee hair stayed in place for a moment as her head turned, like a shampoo commercial; the mass covering one of her green eyes for an instant before it went.

"Whatever," the bartender said, dropping thirty on the bar, and lingering a second too long as she watched his face.

"You can keep the five you didn't give me," the average man said, never looking the bartender's way and scooping the lime out of his drink to squeeze it. He dropped the lime back into the glass, took a sip, set it down, stirred it, and looked over to Bridgette. He left the thirty on the bar while the bartender walked away shyly.

"So what's you're name?" The average man re-asked her.

"

Fine

... it's Bridgette." She was still watching the level fluid in the clear tilted glass; her words came out as a sigh, almost deep.

"Hello, Bridgette," the average man uttered while he flicked his free left hand and bowed his head.

Next he moved from the bar, putting his right hand out and resuming his posture against the curved surface before he continued to speak. "My name is William, I'm glad to meet you," he left his right hand in the air, waiting for her, with his left fingers hooking right under the edge of his belt. (ha)

Bridgette turned to look William's way, wondering what he was up to, but instead she forgot about so many nameless troubles. The smile on his face, slightly sad, was obviously addictive when matched with his eyes.

Before she knew what was happening, she was taking his hand. He didn't shake it, instead he grasp her fingers, squeezing ever so slightly, as if hugging them. Her hand tingled after he let go - in the nicest kind of pins-and-needles.

William slid one of the two tall shot glasses towards her, the amber liquid catching her eye; they bumped hands as she reached for it, Bridgette looking up at him with curiosity on her face.

"Don't worry," he smiled again, feeding her only addiction, "there's no Rufies. It will make you feel better." With that, he grabbed the other tall shot glass, touched it to the one he'd given her, and downed it in a long slow sip.

Bridgette watched William roll the liquid on his tongue before he swallowed, thereafter taking in a deep breath. When he exhaled, Bridgette could only smell caramel.

He still leaned on the bar, barely sitting on his tall legged chair, with his eyes closed since the shot. "So what happened to you?" he asked, seeming to ignore the club noises all around and speaking in a low tone that caused her to lean his way.

"What do you mean?" She still held her shot.

"Well, you look wounded," he said to her with newly opened eyes, all seriousness below his five o'clock shadow.

Bridgette's face went downtrodden, wondering if she were so obvious. She spun back into the proper position in her seat. "I am," she said in near silence, and then downed the shot with a thrown back head.

When the glass hit the bar, she let out a noise of pure agony and disgust. It was loud enough to attract the temporary attention of most around; along with the word "slut" and some laughter. She stared at him, aghast in appearance and at the flavor overbearing her pallet. He was smiling again.

"Just wait." he spoke in the perfect tone. "Relax, just wait, you'll see." He had his hand raised slightly, almost trying to calm her physically with the gesture.

Bridgette had no choice but to wait as the urge to throw up leveled out and almost came to fruition. Before it did, it stopped altogether: The world slowly changed into a caramel and vanilla flavored landscape. The noise permeated her every sense; making her eyes water, and warming her tummy in the best possible way.

"What the fuck..." Bridgette whispered out, licking her lips and feeling fire within as she watched his smile form sugared words.

"Indeed." He uttered, grabbing his other drink and taking a sip. "So what happened?" The hint of sadness showed itself to Bridgette in a wisp.

"I don't want to talk about it." She didn't. Her watered eyes almost began to cry with the new additions, forcing her to turn back to her glass.

He scooted his chair closer to her proximity, taking up the same position he was in, but only the shortest distance away from her body; he brought more tingles.

"Then let's talk about something else." He said with understanding, lightening the mood in a palpable way.

"Like what?" Bridgette could only think of her misery.

"How about we go with the same old?" He too now looked at his drink; he played and absently stirred with the small red straw as the glass sat upon the bar coaster.

"Yeah.. ok.." Bridgette whispered, still fighting the urge to cry. "Soya from around here?" She said not looking his way, and almost laughed at the stupidity of it all despite her inner turmoil.

"I was. Not these days. You?" He spoke and then sipped his drink, resuming the stirring after.

Bridgette sipped, as well, in series. "Yeah, I'm a city kid. I've lived here all my life." She was still speaking softly. "So what brings you back to town?"

"I don't want to talk about it." His words were pungent. "We were being cheesy, remember?" William was trying not to look her way.

His words caught her curiosity for the second time of the busy Friday evening. She studied his profile as he tried not to look her way. "Right... Sorry... So, what do you do?"

"Believe it or not, I'm an archeologist."

"Really?" The word held no excitement either way. "So.. what.. you dig up dead things all day?" Bridgette watched him unnoticeably flinch at the key word.

"Basically. Sometimes I write about it. What do you do?" William had finally returned his face to hers with his question, bringing back the hazel embrace of his vision.

"I'm-n.. an RN," she sighed, "..well,

was

, until the stupid merger..." William was not sure if she was talking to herself or not.

"You got fired?" He asked, curious at sudden depth combined with the 'stunning while she's angry' earlier on. She really was a beautiful woman.

"The term is downsized, Bill," she said, sipping her drink after.

"Then you're still an RN, you're just unemployed." His smile came just before she went fiendish for it. "So is that what happened to you? I thought you didn't want to talk about it?" He asked her seriously, casually sipping his drink and examining it before setting it down and turning his attention back her way.

She had been sitting slightly turned in his direction; she still was, but now full of intrigue at exactly how it was that she had begun to spill her guts to him.

"Let's just say that's where it started, the middle is the worst part, and it ends with me here, single, and alone." She slammed her drink when she finished, listening to his following words while she did so.

"You're not alone. You've got me, and that means I'm not alone." He left his finish to hang. The two sat in the silence of the club music and combined mumbled conversations for a good length.

"Why is it that you can't get drunk fast enough, especially when you want to." Bridgette, at least a quart low, needed more alcohol to drown her sorrows; she was also broke, the dollar on the bar was a tip.

"I plan on it."

"Plan on what?" Bridgette asked, staring his way and holding her empty glass.

"On getting wasted. I also have a mind to start a fight, maybe get kicked out of this place, or arrested, or something..." William began looking around the club ceiling, as if what he was looking for was hidden there in the various places between the awful lighting.

His drink was almost gone.

"Are you staying in a hotel?" Bridgette had had enough of this club.

"I am." William looked at her, curious, with the slightest hint of light smile, more so addictive that full on.

"Does it have a bar?" She was still holding her empty glass.

"It does." William pulled his phone out of a pocket. It was sleek, and black, with the buttons invisible.

"Then if you take me there and get me drunk, I'll give you something better to do." Bridgette said while thinking: "Getting fucked is just as good as getting arrested." She would justify it any way she could to not feel the way she did.

William hit a seemingly random button on his phone, an instant later speaking: "Shortly.. no." He hit another seemingly random button, put the phone away, and offered Bridgette his grip.

She was wondering why he never said "hello" or "goodbye" to the person on the phone as he guided her, at her side, from the club; William was holding her hand and the small of her back. He had left the thirty on the bar; Bridgette carried no purse or accessories.

***

The noise of the city and traffic echoing through the endlessly tall buildings equaled the volume of the club; it was simply the exchange of one annoyance for another. The doorman un-clicked the 'rope' as they approached the bottom of the stairs from the open club entrance.

Some snickers were heard from the line, mostly from women waiting to get in; they were appalled by her short fluorescent yellow bikini strapped dress, bright orange sneakers, white ankle socks, and an obvious lack of underwear beneath the sheer material. "She looks like a prostitute," was barely heard above the noise of the surroundings, just loud enough to hurt Bridgette's feelings and drown out the word "clown".

William squeezed her hand in response as they walked down the cheap red carpet and towards the boulevard. A black limousine pulled up to the curb when they were halfway there; the car door was held open by the time they arrived.

"Take me to the hotel, please, and play something beautiful along the way, Terrance." William spoke to the chauffeur while he assisted an awestruck Bridgette with entry.

"Yes, sir," Terrance responded promptly, closing the door after William was in.

William settled into the center of the rear seat, spreading his arms across the back and relaxing, waiting for her.

"A limo huh?" Bridgette, sitting across from him in rear facing seat, only had negative on her face even if the mood was light.

"You don't like to travel in style?" He asked, offering his own sad smile for her pleasure.

The joke that wasn't a joke finally brought a genuine grin to Bridgette's complexion. She reached over to the in-car bar and snatched one of many etched glass flasks. In turn, she stood inside the small space, pointed her barely covered bottom towards his face, and fell onto the seat on his left side; shortly after she tucked herself under his arm and moved it to her bare shoulder.

Her bright shoes looked comical next to his glimmering black leathers; her bright putrid hued dress contrasted even more so against his tailored, and cuffed, black slacks. Her tight nipples looked dark, as well as her full lower triangle of hair, both visible beneath the wrinkled fabric of the revealing skirt. Her skin to match the raven disposition glowed continuously against the city lights streaming into the chariot.

Bridgette took a heavy swig of the burning contents of the flask, passing it to William when she finished; she laid the hand on his firm abdomen shortly after. The more feels she went for, the more she cursed herself for judging.

"It's ok.. I

guess

..." She spoke as she watched the tops of the building pierce the night sky through the open sunroof. Her false mocking tone brought a small humorous huff from William in response. He turned to stare and watch her sit in silence.

The soft violin concerto was the only thing heard for the duration of the smooth ride.

***

"I thought you said you were an archeologist?" Bridgette was stunned by the hotel. The flags and lighting alone told of the luxury, the doorman's attire bragged of it.

"Thank you, Terrance. I won't be needing the car for the rest of the evening." William had heard her.

"Yes sir, Dr. Walther, sir. Good evening." Terrance bowed slightly after closing the door to the limo.

"To you as well, Terrance," William offered his arm to Bridgette; she was still carrying the half-empty flask from the limo, though the stopper was gone to the back seat.

She accepted his arm and the escort through the held-open gold trimmed glass door.

"I am," he said to the clicking of his soles against the finished marble artwork of the hotel lobby floor. "Well,

was

... Just because I like to dig does not mean I'm broke." His smile lingered all the way to the elevator they did not wait for.

"I'll say," Bridgette spoke as they stepped into the elevator - with an included bellhop - which had better carpet than her apartment. She ignored the mystery in his words for the sake of luxury and pleasure to stifle her screaming emotions.

"Penthouse, sir?" The bellhop actually had a snooty tone. William only nodded in reply as the doors closed.

Bridgette, almost William's height, ran her finger through his soft messy hair while she squeezed his bicep with the other hand all the way to the top of the hotel. The bellhop actually had a snooty look on his face as he watched Bridgette's touch in the reflective gold mirror surfaces whilst William drank from the stolen etched glass flask.

***

"If you're hungry, there's some food on the table over there," William pointed after he unbuttoned the second button of his shirt. He slipped off his shoes and made way towards the bar in the massive open hotel penthouse. Only the bedroom and the bathroom were hidden behind walls.

Bridgette, now carrying the nearly half full flask,

kicked

off her sneakers into random directions and walked to a table - quite a distance from the crafted bar - next to the windows overlooking the balcony and a large portion of the city.

Bridgette pulled the lids off of the three Sterling trays on the long table: fruits, breads, meats, pastries, and cheeses galore wafted her senses. Her stomach was roaring as she pushed the flask into the free hand of the approaching William.

'Diving in' would be an understatement; her lifelong front of etiquette had disappeared earlier on from her many traumas; now her finish vanished into oblivion with her hunger.

She had an apple in one hand and a piece of sliced turkey in the other while attempting to eat them both at once with partial success.

William smiled at her natural reaction, setting down a mixed drink, with two symmetrical cubes of clinking ice, onto the table for her to imbibe, and then walked with the flask to the bar to make a drink of his own.

"RooooOH, MTHankf FU!" she said through her chews; the turkey was traded for a piece of cheese. William couldn't help but see her ease and grace as she wantonly filled various voids.

"No problem, it's all complimentary. They really like it when you spend money. That stuff," he pointed to the table, "is just to get me to spend more. I think it's all gourmet as well."

Bridgette shrugged her shoulders, a piece of carrot hanging from her lips.

"It's good, I had some earlier," William finished with a smile, watching her scan the table.

"RNo CHiddin chits gwud," she said with a mouthful of bread, looking around the panoramic view of the city. "WIt's Relleh Bwutifufl Hrr." She said, finally swallowing her food, and sipping her drink.

"What's that?" William said to her, smiling with half of his mouth as he approached her, and not understanding a word.

Bridgette gasp for a breath, still feeling terrible, but outwardly showing it was not nearly as bad if well distracted. "Sorry, sorry..." She was slightly hunched forward in the light, holding her drink down and kissing the right side of her right wrist in an attempt to clean her lips; she probably should have gotten a napkin.