The barkeep approaches and I order a martini, smiling at his shock. Can't a girl drink a martini at nine in the morning? While he shakes the tin and ices my glass, I scan the room. Every set of eyes watches me for I'm the only woman here. This bar seems to be a male haven, with a cigar room against the far wall and a hanging punching bag that men love to use to excise testosterone.
Barkeep places the martini in front of me and disappears into the stock room. Taking my first sip, I smile when I see a man of middle age with gray flecks in curly brown hair sit next to me.
I can feel heat coming from his body and close my eyes for a moment trying to imagine the lines he will use to lure me into his clutches. While I wait for the inevitable assault, I insert money into the jukebox and select a song.
"I hate this fucking song," he says, smiling.
"Is that a fact?" I ask, returning his smile and crossing my legs in his direction. The shorts I wear cover nothing and he can see all of my pale skin. Our eyes connect and I let his stare bore into me, trying to touch places inside best left alone.
"I've never seen you here before, is this your first time in Vegas?"
"Yes, I arrived in Vegas yesterday," I say, loving the way his attention keeps returning to my legs.
He laughs and inches his stool closer to mine, the rough denim of his work jeans brushing against my knee. "Let me guess, you're a model."
I nod to him and hear the door ring. Turning, I see Saul enter the bar and take a seat near us, close enough to hear our conversation. "I knew it. Would I know any of your work?"
He places a hand on my thigh and I see Saul's jaw clench as the barkeep pours a beer. I do not remove his hand and pretend not to notice. It's amazing how fast a man will push things if you simply do nothing to stop him. He caresses my skin and tells me a joke. I don't even pretend to hear it or him and sing with the song.
and George keeps asking when
I will live my life right....
I look into his eyes and give him my best smile, "Yes, they really are the lyrics."
While he ponders a response, the palm of his hand slides higher on my thigh. Oh, the plain bold sass of older men. It makes me smile to watch Saul writhe in anger, gripping the beer so tightly I think he might break the glass.
"I would love to take you to dinner," he says after a long pause and another playing of the song.
I laugh and laugh and laugh at him. It's so easy. Just sit and wait for a man to fall into the snare. It takes less than five minutes.
"No need to take me to dinner," I say, pressing play on the jukebox again. I smile as his lizard mind takes in my statement. And now the games begin.