I was alone in a corner of the bar, watching the foam slide down the inside slope of my beer bottle as I slowly tilted it down from a desultory swig, when she came through the door out of the rain. With red hair dampened from the weather and a gorgeously full bosom tenting the chest of her too-thin coat, she would have stood out anywhere. In the dim squalor of the roadside tavern, outlined in the shrinking glow of the streetlight leaking through the slowly closing door she was like a vision.
In my case, a vision of clear, cold water to a man dying of thirst.
She moved to the bar, drawing only casual glances from the few other patrons of the tavern. Over the tinny drone of the ancient jukebox, I heard her explain to the equally ancient bartender about a breakdown and the need for a tow truck and a taxi.
"No taxi," was the bartender's curt reply. "No tow truck neither."
"What about a beer? Have you got any of those?" Even from across the room the sarcasm in her voice was evident. It didn't seem to effect the bartender however. He simply turned away and moved in a shuffle towards the cooler at the far end of the bar, leaving her to slump down on a bar stool in defeat.
I fingered the wadded up ten dollar bill in my pocket. Right now it was the only money I had. I had rolled into this godforsaken village in the middle of nowhere earlier in the evening, following a tip from a friend in the city about a weekly poker game held by some of the better-off residents of the area. Easy pickings, I was told. Locals -- totally not up to your level of play.
Ha. Right.
The "locals" turned out to be mostly well-off business types with weekend homes in the surrounding picturesque valley, out of the city and from under their wives' glares for a night of too much drinking, too much carousing, and too much high stakes poker. The buy-in was steep, but I had gone ahead with it, hoping my experience and usually sharp luck would carry me through.
That's what you get sometimes, *depending* on luck. Lean on luck too hard and it slips away. She's a fickle lady, Ms. Luck.
"She's a bitch," I muttered to myself as I continued to stare at the red-head at the bar. She was sipping at a beer now, her red lips wrapping gently around the mouth of the bottle with each tilt. I thought I even saw the tip of her tongue dart out and into the top as she stared at the row of dusty liquor bottles behind the bar with unseeing eyes.
I felt a stirring in my pants, and it wasn't the ten dollars in my pocket.
I reached a decision. The night was a bust anyway, and there wasn't much to lose...and maybe heaven to gain. I drained my beer and set the bottle down on the table in front of me. Standing, I straightened my shirt, sucked in my gut, and tried to cheer myself on.
"Fuck it, brother. Time to roll the dice."
It felt odd to me even as I said it. Odd, but somehow *right*. And as I started across the bar towards the woman, I pondered what had made that particular phrase pop into my head. I'm not a dice man. I'm a card player, always have been. Dice is too random, not enough skill. It's all...luck.
That thought made me grin, and it just so happened that at that moment the woman's eyes met mine in the mirror behind the bar. She grinned back at me, seeming surprised to be doing so, and slowly rotated her stool around to face my approach. She ended up with one leg stretched out to balance, the other still propped up on the stool, and I had a good slow look up her legs, encased in black nylons, feet in black boots ending a little below the knee. The movement pulled her skirt tight across where it had ridden up on her thighs, and the darkness between those thighs made my cock grow a little tighter in my jeans.
I leaned up against the bar next to her stool and met her eyes, this time without the aid of a mirror. For a moment I felt like I was falling -- the force of her, the presence she exuded with her gaze, seemed to pull me forward, off balance. It lasted only a second, and then I was able to clear my suddenly scratchy throat and act something like a normal human being.
"Car trouble?" I asked.
She grimaced in disgust. "Yes. Damn thing just up and quit on me. Now I seem to be stuck here, since this crummy little town doesn't even have a tow truck. I guess I was lucky this bar was so close, and open."
"I guess so. It's nice to be lucky," I winked. "Can I buy you a beer?"
She glanced down at her bottle and drained the last of it in a quick couple of swallows as I stared at her smooth throat work. Slamming the empty bottle down on the bar, she said, "Sure thing, handsome."
I signaled the bartender for two more and pulled a stool up next to the woman. I held out my hand. "My name's Randy," I said.
She took my hand in soft fingers still cool from the beer bottle. "Nancy," she said. "My name's Nancy."
Nancy, I thought to myself. You are so deliciously fuckable.
"Pleased to meet you Nancy," I responded, slowly releasing her hand and allowing her fingers to slide through mine as we disengaged.
The bartender, showing a turn of speed that I thought was unlikely in man his age was back already with the beers. I passed him my ten dollars and he shuffled off again -- hopefully to get me some change. I slid one of the beers over to Nancy and turned in my stool to face her.
