Unbe-frickin-lievably gorgeous because he's got blue eyes that look like a fucking pool in the Mediterranean and black hair and a smile that melts lead.
Yeah, you go that picture? Well, that's what happened. And, yes, Mr. Blue Eyes was smiling. And, another yes, my mouth was still open.
Now, don't get me wrong, this dude was overconfident, charming, self-composed, and, judging from a sudden level of increased moisture in a particular part of my lower body, exceedingly likely to get what he wants (should he try.) And I could tell all of this just from his smile (of course.)
"Are you OK?" he asked.
Now, I know what you're thinking: Love at first sight, right?
Fuck. That. Shit.
This motherfucker was hot ! And he was in front of me! I mean, we were in a fricking club, right? There are hot people in a club, right? And I had no idea what he was thinking. (No, I did have an idea. He figured: "Oh, semi-attractive chick dressed in a bustier and mini-skirt just bumped into me. Let me try and get laid.")
Yes, on some level, somewhere, I knew all these things.
Only, my mouth was still open.
And I wasn't thinking on that level from which I knew all these things. I was on another level. Much lower down...
"Hello?" he asked, now frowning.
The sudden dryness on my tongue made me realize I had my mouth open. So I closed it ( finally ), smacked my lips once or twice trying to get some saliva going...
"Um, sorry, what was that?" I asked him. I might not be miss smooth-talker, and as much as I wanted to run and look away out of sheer embarrassment, I might as well try and flirt with this dude.
"I said, 'Are you OK?' You look a little stunned, like you recognize me or something..."
Recognize him? Was that a pick-up line? And was that accent English? Goddamnit, I was thinking too much! "Um—" I giggled (yes, nervously, and my hands were now also clammy), "no, no... Leora! That's my name. Hi!" And then my hand was out and I was ready to give him a handshake like we were all up in some business meeting or something.
"Well, nice to meet you, Leora. I'm Conall." He took my had, gave it a hard squeeze, then a tight nod. I tried to imagine what he looked like underneath the blazer and dress-shirt he was wearing. He was obviously bigg ish (definitely not as big as the drop-my-panties-rock-solid-guy that Kayls was dancing with.) I couldn't tell a thing about this guy other than: he looked much older than me (maybe twenty-five, twenty-eight?) And he was definitely English.
"Hi!" I said back, expecting him to get on and start talking to me.
"Well, have a good time then," he said, did that tight nod thing again (was that an English thing?) and then turned away! Back to his friends!
I eyed him for a bit. His hair was kind of long but not long enough for it to be considered inappropriate for business. I finally gave up and proceeded to fight it out with the other people to try and get the bartender's attention for a drink. Just my luck, as I looked left and right of me, I counted at least seven fucking blondes of at least five-foot-nine wanting to be served.
Where did these people come from?
-5-
I stood their getting jostled and elbowed and damn-near trampled by people around me (including blue-eye Conall on my right... OK, I exaggerate. I wished he'd done it. But he was keeping a safe distance away.)
"Excuse me!" I shouted at the bartender. (I was ignored.) "Excuse me!"
The burly bartender stood their looking at me with his "I'm not wearing a shirt and have great pecs so I can be a dick" look. He raised his eyebrows, almost walked off as a result of my procrastination.
"No, wait! Um—" I argued with myself about calories but stayed firm and ordered only a mineral water. While I was waiting for it, I looked down at my abs to see if I'd put on any fat. I flexed them secretly. Nope, they still looked OK. Not as great as Miss "I have no brains but I have silicone" over there, but they'd turn someone on (I hoped.)
"Mineral Water," said
Yeah, you go that picture? Well, that's what happened. And, yes, Mr. Blue Eyes was smiling. And, another yes, my mouth was still open.
Now, don't get me wrong, this dude was overconfident, charming, self-composed, and, judging from a sudden level of increased moisture in a particular part of my lower body, exceedingly likely to get what he wants (should he try.) And I could tell all of this just from his smile (of course.)
"Are you OK?" he asked.
Now, I know what you're thinking: Love at first sight, right?
Fuck. That. Shit.
This motherfucker was hot ! And he was in front of me! I mean, we were in a fricking club, right? There are hot people in a club, right? And I had no idea what he was thinking. (No, I did have an idea. He figured: "Oh, semi-attractive chick dressed in a bustier and mini-skirt just bumped into me. Let me try and get laid.")
Yes, on some level, somewhere, I knew all these things.
Only, my mouth was still open.
And I wasn't thinking on that level from which I knew all these things. I was on another level. Much lower down...
"Hello?" he asked, now frowning.
The sudden dryness on my tongue made me realize I had my mouth open. So I closed it ( finally ), smacked my lips once or twice trying to get some saliva going...
"Um, sorry, what was that?" I asked him. I might not be miss smooth-talker, and as much as I wanted to run and look away out of sheer embarrassment, I might as well try and flirt with this dude.
"I said, 'Are you OK?' You look a little stunned, like you recognize me or something..."
Recognize him? Was that a pick-up line? And was that accent English? Goddamnit, I was thinking too much! "Um—" I giggled (yes, nervously, and my hands were now also clammy), "no, no... Leora! That's my name. Hi!" And then my hand was out and I was ready to give him a handshake like we were all up in some business meeting or something.
"Well, nice to meet you, Leora. I'm Conall." He took my had, gave it a hard squeeze, then a tight nod. I tried to imagine what he looked like underneath the blazer and dress-shirt he was wearing. He was obviously bigg ish (definitely not as big as the drop-my-panties-rock-solid-guy that Kayls was dancing with.) I couldn't tell a thing about this guy other than: he looked much older than me (maybe twenty-five, twenty-eight?) And he was definitely English.
"Hi!" I said back, expecting him to get on and start talking to me.
"Well, have a good time then," he said, did that tight nod thing again (was that an English thing?) and then turned away! Back to his friends!
I eyed him for a bit. His hair was kind of long but not long enough for it to be considered inappropriate for business. I finally gave up and proceeded to fight it out with the other people to try and get the bartender's attention for a drink. Just my luck, as I looked left and right of me, I counted at least seven fucking blondes of at least five-foot-nine wanting to be served.
Where did these people come from?
-5-
I stood their getting jostled and elbowed and damn-near trampled by people around me (including blue-eye Conall on my right... OK, I exaggerate. I wished he'd done it. But he was keeping a safe distance away.)
"Excuse me!" I shouted at the bartender. (I was ignored.) "Excuse me!"
The burly bartender stood their looking at me with his "I'm not wearing a shirt and have great pecs so I can be a dick" look. He raised his eyebrows, almost walked off as a result of my procrastination.
"No, wait! Um—" I argued with myself about calories but stayed firm and ordered only a mineral water. While I was waiting for it, I looked down at my abs to see if I'd put on any fat. I flexed them secretly. Nope, they still looked OK. Not as great as Miss "I have no brains but I have silicone" over there, but they'd turn someone on (I hoped.)
"Mineral Water," said
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