1.1 Featherweight
The night was warm, the two teams plastered over all our TVs were already a minute into overtime, and the local crew walked in. Their manners weren’t any worse than the ones already here, and what was best about them as customers was they mostly showed up when they had a flood of cash to spare. Two of us filling pitchers of beer eyed them hungrily. No one needed to say anything, their usual table was cleared out quickly.
Two of them gestured at us for a moment before the only man to have stirred any interest in me whistled and beckoned me. They were all still laughing over whatever had happened elsewhere.
My coworker almost pouted, and after nodding at him, I dropped off the pitcher quickly.
He smirked at me for not immediately going over, and it was still there on his lips as I easily picked my way towards him, enjoying the view. Slicked back hair, dark and glossy like a raven’s wing. I don’t think the style was fully intentional, but it lined up really well with his face, the slightly crooked curve of his nose. Shiny gold snake chain, with a diamond-studded crown over his heart. His fingers decked out for pain, a modestly priced watch on one thick wrist, in case it flew off. Sleek black shades wrapped around a face that was as unreadable as it was handsome. A single scar dented his left cheek from above his brow, and I wondered if he wore shades because it was empty.
He was interesting; didn’t brag or yell even though he’d release a savage grin occasionally. Kept his hands to himself and his ballsiest friends in line, at least with me.
But as one of only four employees in the packed, yet short-staffed sports bar tonight, my attention could not revolve around one person, and so I brought his table as many rounds as they ordered, put up with a few stray hands that he tipped me for, while keeping my other people happy as well. Someone would always pay up, I guessed it was his turn tonight. He made sure I tugged every bill out of a hand he kept close to his body, not facing my direction but making me take an extra second by his side. I certainly didn't want to rip the paper, so if he pinched it too hard, I had to stop pulling.
Then one corner of his mouth started sliding into a small smirk as the bills kept coming, and I felt myself starting to blush as the night progressed. Trying to distract myself from the feeling that he was watching me, even though at times he was talking to the person beside him. He wasn't partying with the rest of them, but still looked very much comfortable with his beers.
I was hot and sweaty and very much soaking my underwear in about an hour and a half, and he’d only ordered drinks and made me tug his money out of his hand. The final victory boomed through the room in cheers and a few spills, and his friend cut the air over his neck so they'd finish what was left. My raven-winged interest nodded and handed over a small fold of bills.
"That's for you," he said, though the room drowned him out.
I don't know what in the world possessed me to wink, but immediately after, I turned away quickly to attend to another table so I didn't have to think about it. They were gone after a while and I assumed he left with them, but I was quickly swamped with cleaning up and closing tabs, and easily put it out of my mind one more night.
Maybe he’d show up again tomorrow.
The last rush of the night always left my head spinning. It took the bar being almost empty and the lights coming on for me to realize he was still sitting in his spot. I know what I felt myself do down there, but I made sure to keep myself busy.
The same coworker who had been filling pitchers with me earlier, put her head near mine as we finished cleaning the tables of the growing closed-off section. Her voice was low enough, near enough in my ear, that it raised the hairs on my arms.
“Bitch, if you don’t take him home, I will.”
My breath rushed out of me in a dirty laugh. “Maybe, baby. I could picture you between his sheets. Screaming.”
She didn’t expect that, and giggled before taking me up on it, “Don’t mind if I do, then! He’s a total Daddy.”
“Oh yeah, Daddy, harder!” I teased her, and her eyes went wide even as she kept laughing.
“Is that how you like it, butterfly?”
His voice behind me jerked a muscle near my spine, and I tried my best to suppress it so it didn’t look like I was shaking my ass. Instead, I laughed, caught in the act, and watched her step away with another pout before I decided to turn around. He stood far enough away that he wouldn’t get in trouble, but only just. He wasn’t smiling.
“What I do and don’t like shouldn’t concern you. We’re about to close,” I hinted, and turned back around to collect my dish rag.
He grunted in amusement.
Took a pen from my hair and easily grabbed the hand I’d raised to snatch it back. His firm grasp didn’t hurt as he wrote over my veins. It tickled, but I was also speechless that he would.
What I could see of his face was calm and almost pleased.
Standing so close, and with the bar this empty, his cologne wrapped around me like every sultry temptation I’d dreamed, the feathery swirls of his writing making it look like he was drawing something that needed a tattoo gun.
That got a smirk out of me. I saw both the phone number and the illusion. He had a really good hand, despite the callouses across his knuckles.
“How many girls did you practice that on?” I asked bluntly.
The capped end of my pen booped my nose before he stuck it back in my hair with, “Not how many, how long. Text me.”
He walked away before he could see me turn every shade of red possible.
Smooth fucking criminal.
I bit my tongue and heard a squeal from the direction of the work station she was pretending to wipe down. My hands got back to doing what they should.
“Not helping,” I told her as I heard the front door close for the last time today, but we all finished quickly despite their collective teasing.
"Cele's got a boyfriend- No, Cele's got a man-cake... Cele's got beef... Someone's gonna get some beefcake... Cele's gonna get some... Awoooo~"
I almost wanted to sit on his lap the next time he showed up, just to get them to shut up. But I was more embarrassed than angry at them, and I knew it was because it might actually be true.
The drive home had never seemed so long before because I'd never desperately wanted a shower and some alone time as much as I did right then.
My skin still burned from the electrifying touch of his fingers, and I was careful not to mess up his art in my haste to feel fresh and clean on my sheets. I barely made it to my bed, before the hand he’d held was sliding in between my wide open legs.
Would he tease me or would he test me? And then probably just get his rocks off and leave...
Now a ruined fantasy thanks to my brain, I flipped through my head for another thing to get me to cum. For a moment, all I could focus on was the pleasure.
Then the memory of his voice slithered into my present moment.
Is that how you like it, butterfly?
My thoughts went back to the peek of scar, the slicked hair, the impermanent tattoo that I’d carefully washed around, fingers flicking faster.
Not how many, how long...
Hips finally jerking like I’d suppressed earlier, I rode my orgasm with delicious moans that made me wish I’d at least known his name.
Text me.
Hmm... I had his number...
