The bar was quiet; a few regulars sat and smoked, spread out among the sparse tables, a welcoming smell of booze, old wood, and cigarettes wafted through the air. A bar at the end of the world was a little cliche, but this was close. I lit a smoke of my own, taking another drink off of my steadily warming beer; the room spun a little, a side effect of the whiskey shots that had kicked the evening off.
I'd needed a drink; that much was certain.
I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror behind the bar, hair a little too long, eyes just a bit too haggard.
It ain't the years, baby... it's the miles.
I had more miles on me than most, barely out of my twenties, and I'd experienced more death, horror, and sadness than any man has a right to. The worst part? There wasn't a point to any of it; I hadn't suffered for any noble cause, hadn't nearly lost my mind in a herculean effort against insurmountable odds.
I'd just been unlucky.
My innocence lost at eighteen; seeing evil up close tended to do that. My health after fought cancer and won, twice. But even that win felt like a loss when my marriage crumbled in front of me. Loneliness, pain, and self-loathing followed, years of it.
A deep drag off my cigarette probably took a few months off my life; I couldn't be bothered to care anymore. A couple of drunks chattered about the game at the end of the bar, but the bar was still, other lost souls like me, killing time.
The door popped open, bringing the winter with it and drawing eyes from every corner. I glanced up at the mirror when she blew in.
I put her at around late twenties; long silvery hair and high cheekbones lent an almost regal look to a beautiful face, pale skin, a pretty swoop of a nose, and large eyes that seemed to glow softly in the dim light as they surveyed the room before locking onto mine. Her full lips quirked into a small smile at my gaze; I felt my mouth hanging open at...everything about her. A fire welled up in my chest as I looked her over, a smartly cut black coat over a red blouse, down to black dress pants that hugged her long legs, terminating in a pair of black heels.
I wasn't alone, everyone in the place was staring at the newcomer, but when she stepped off, the confidence in her stride, combined with the almost smug look in her eyes as she stared me down, told the tale.
She couldn't care less about what they thought; she was on a mission.
I swiveled in my stool as she approached; it struck me just how tall she was, I push six-two, and she looked to be at least six-foot. Her eyes never left mine, and I couldn't bring myself to tear my gaze away from her beautiful green eyes.
"Hello, Zack." Her voice was low, raspy, and undeniably sexy.
I fumbled for a reply; I'd never seen her before in my life; how in the world did she know my name?
She smirked, her deep red lips twisting cutely, "Don't think about it too hard. You don't know me, but I certainly know you. Is this seat taken?" She waved at the stool next to me, and I shook my head dumbly, still at a loss as she shrugged out of her jacket, revealing a figure that sparked something inside of me that I hadn't bothered with for years.
Her slacks clung to her wide hips, the curve of her ass was a sight to behold; I found myself wondering what she tasted like as my eyes made their way up to her blood-red shirt, a few buttons straining to hold back a sizable bust.
I finally found the words as she slid onto the stool, "How do you know my name?" My voice was raw, too many years smoking.
She swiveled to face me, eyes sparkling as a soft sigh spilled from her lips, "I'm afraid that a lady has to have her secrets...for now. Will you be able to content yourself with a drink from a lovely stranger?" Her eyelashes fluttered coquettishly, and my heart sped up.
"S-sure," I cursed the quaver in my voice.
Her smile went wider, genuine happiness written across every line, "Wonderful, bartender? May I have a glass of wine? Red if you have it, and something for my... friend." She favored me with a questioning look.
"Glass of whiskey, Rick."
Rick scooped his jaw up off the floor, shaking it off with a mild blush, "Sure thing."
He pulled the wine into the glass, glancing in the mirror at her as he worked; I couldn't blame him, there was something ethereal about her, you almost couldn't look away. My whiskey came next, the dark amber liquid swirled into a tumbler, a small splash of water, and he set both of the glasses in front of us with a long look at my guest.
For my part, I couldn't take my eyes off of her as she sipped at her wine daintily, those ruby-red lips pursing around the rim of the glass, mystified at how she made it look so sensual. Her eyes flashed playfully at me, and I remembered my own drink; a long sip followed, the burn followed by a pleasant warmth that diffused throughout my body.
She set her glass on the bar, "Call me, Lucy." Her voice was more of a purr.
I'd never had a woman come onto me so blatantly, or at all really, so it was with a lot of effort and barely contained stammering as I extended my hand. But when her smaller hand slipped into mine, all my faux-smoothness went right out the window to die in the Montana blizzard, murdered by the warmth from her skin.
"A p-pleasure, to m-meet you, Lucy."
Real smooth... dipshit.
Her smile only widened at my nerves, the purr never left her voice, and her eyes never left mine; a theme was developing here, "Oh, I assure you, the pleasure is all mine." I was putty in her hands, literally, even as a small voice screamed at me that everything about this was off. She took another dainty sip of her wine, regarding me over her glass. Any chance I had to look like I had my shit together was gone. So nobody was as surprised as me when she didn't let go of my hand.
"You have questions, and I promise that I will answer every single one, but first..." The music that thrummed out of the shitty old jukebox changed got louder, clearer, and her eyes flashed at me again, "... dance with me?"
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, my protesting mind ringing warning bells, but nothing came out.
She took my silence for assent, setting her glass down and sliding off the stool, gently tugging my arm.
Like I had a choice.
