What was an intended "girl's night out" turned into a night alone at the bar. My friend, Sheila, had to back out at the last second. So at the bar I sat, my hand wrapped around a frigid bottle of Guinness as I watched swarms of people talk and dance around me.
Then I saw him, two tables from the bar with a cigarette wedged between his pink lips. His body was a light shade of olive and slightly muscular. He had short, sandy-blonde hair and his chin was covered with a five o' clock shadow. I stared and I stared hard, analyzing the small wrinkles on his forehead and the way his lips curved when he inhaled his cigarette.
He must have felt my eyes on him, because he turned and faced me, sending me a slight smirk. Blushing, I looked in the opposite direction. A series of butterflies fluttered throughout my stomach and I could feel the sweat from my hand mixing with the cold liquid running down my bottle of beer. Biting my bottom lip, I found the courage to peep at him again, only to be surprised by his hand on my shoulder and his face directly in front of mine.
"Want to dance?" he asked, his voice deep and scratchy.
I looked at my half-finished beer and shrugged my shoulders. "Sure."
I let go of the beer and put my slippery hand in his.
Slowly, he guided me to the middle of the bar and into the mound of people losing themselves in Hotel California. He gently wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close.
Resting my head on his shoulder, I felt the warmth of his body against my ear. The butterflies soared against the walls of my stomach, slamming into it hard.
Loosening the firm grip he had on my waist, he slid his hands lower, until they were resting against the back of my skirt.