"Let me guess," the bartender asked, setting the glass of water in front of me. "You're here looking for some company."
She stared at me expectantly, a slight smile on her glossy-pink lips. I smiled ruefully at her, taking a sip of the icy liquid. "Gee, what gave me away?" I meant it sarcastically, because anyone in the bar could see what I was after, especially another woman. The little black dress gave me away, one of those sparkly knit gowns that clung to every curve, just short enough to make you appreciate a hint of thigh and wonder just how far my legs went up. Or maybe it was the heels, best described as "fuck me" pumps in glossy black patent leather. Combined with the carefully arranged hair and the makeup, I made quite a package for some lucky male to pick up. Problem was, the bar seemed devoid of lucky men, save for a few older men who knew better than to press their luck.
The bartender shrugged and proceeded to polish some glasses while talking with me. "Well, tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and I assume you're here on business. So your partner isn't here, and you're looking for a little entertainment to pass a holiday that's best not spent alone. Especially here in Las Vegas, the city of sin herself," she laughed. I was amazed, because she really had hit my situation right on the nose. I was here to teach seminars to new real estate recruits, and was miles away from my husband. Not that being home on Valentine's Day would have mattered anyway, because the bastard would probably be wooing his mistress on the side. Our marriage had deteriorated down to one simple fact: I wasn't divorcing him because it would cost me too much hard-earned cash. So he played his field, and I played mine, and we basically put up with each other.
"Pretty much right," I acknowledged, raising my water glass to her. "How'd you know?"
"Past experience," she confided. "I was sitting in this very bar about three years ago for the same reason, and the bartender working then asked me the same thing."
"And did you find what you were looking for?" I asked. She found this very funny, exploding in a sudden peal of laughter that had me raising my eyebrows. "Oh, I found it alright," she grinned. "A nice little lass from the front desk took me home with her that night, and introduced me to a whole better ballgame." I nearly choked on my water at her answer, staring at her with slight shock. This bartender really didn't seem the lesbian stereotype. She wasn't masculine in her features, and she didn't seem like some of the feminist lesbians I'd known in college.
Her long reddish-blonde hair was pulled up in a loose ponytail, and her makeup was careful and elegant, not much more than a sweep of pink lip-gloss and rose-colored eyeshadow. She wore the standard bartender/waitress garb, a white button dress shirt and black slacks. The most masculine thing on her was her uniform bowtie, which sparkled with rhinestones. "Well," I stammered, a blush rising to my cheeks. She knew her response had caught me off guard, and I struggled to regain my composure. "That's....nice. Do you still see her often?"
"No, we went our separate ways a few months into it. Now the only person I pamper at nights is my cat, Patches."
"I'm sorry," I murmured. "Wish I could work up the will to do that with my husband." She looked at me for a long moment, and I wondered what she was thinking behind those blue eyes. She moved over to the bar, and began mixing several different liquids together in a frosty glass. Coming back over, she plopped down in front of me. "Don't worry, it's not too strong. On the house."
"Thanks," I said. It smelled like limes, a heavenly scent, but before I could raise it to my lips she clapped a hand on my wrist. Her grip was warm, firm and strong. "Wait," she smiled. "I forgot the important part." She reached into a mini-refrigerator beneath the bar, and came up with a single whole cherry, scarlet against her white fingers. She twirled the stem between her thumb and forefinger so I could see it, then raised it up to her mouth and pressed her pink lips to the firm skin.
"For luck," she grinned, plopping it in my drink. "Good luck with your manhunt. It's time for my break." Then she went in the back to fetch another bartender, and I was left alone. The drink was very good, hardly tasting of alcohol. I wondered what she'd put in it. Most of the Las Vegas men must have been elsewhere on that night, for no one even approached me as I drank. Somehow I wasn't quite as concerned with that as I was thirty minutes previously.
Instead, I kept thinking about the bartender, and the way her pretty pink lips looked pressed against that red fruit. When I had totally drained the cup of liquid, I stared down at that round plump cherry resting on the crushed ice. I picked it up, and raised it to my mouth, biting into the flesh of the scarlet treat. It may have been my imagination, but I could have sworn I tasted the faint hint of bubblegum lip-gloss as I devoured the fruit.
My nerves were shot for the next day, Valentine's Day. Despite whatever I tried, I couldn't shake the thought of the pretty bartender from my mind. I'd always considered myself a straight woman, but my blood burned every time I recalled that sassy smile and the gentle kiss she'd bestowed on that cherry. Would her lips be that tender on another woman's, or would she play the aggressive, butch type? I thought about the swell of her breasts beneath that white shirt and brought my hands up to cup my own breasts. I was a considerable B-cup, and I wondered as I caressed myself if her chest would feel as soft and round as my own.
