Anna sat her desk, mindlessly reading another book review of yet another book she had no interest in reading, let alone buying, for the library. She thought she would love a library job and successfully completed her master's degree two short years ago. Unfortunately, the monotony started to get to her. Either she read books she did not enjoy, or there was not enough time in the day to read the books she really wanted to. On this particular day, she daydreamed of what she would do if she could do anything she wanted.
It struck her instantly.
She wanted to write. A novel, that is.
It is something she had pondered in her youth of pursuing, but the thought of an unreliable income drove her nuts. She craved stability, especially because she had been raised without a father and her mother suffered unemployment at random intervals of Anna's young life. It marked her for life.
Unfortunately, she did not know what to write about. She had enjoyed dabbling in some romance in her late teens and early twenties, but now it sounded like baby stuff. Anna craved something more intense, more lasting, and in more ways than one: not short stories, but a novel, and not romance, but erotica. The last thing she wanted was to rip off books she had read and re-read until the spines broke. She needed inspiration, and desperately. Anna texted her husband Alex to let him know her change of plans that night: she would not be going home directly. Instead, she told him of her supposed grocery store stop. She would actually stop there, if only to purchase duplicate goods of what lay in their kitchen already and to hold up her story. But in the back of her mind, she knew she would go to a seedy bar that lay across town, someplace that no one she knew would see her and rat her out to Alex. Secrecy is a must with a mission like this to accomplish.
The rest of her day passed slowly like molasses being seeped from trees in winter. Every time she looked at the clock, it seemed as though only seconds had passed. Finally, the hour hand reached the seven and the minute hand reached the 12. Escape!
Luckily, Anna kept a spare change of clothes in the car, and even more luckily (as though she were on a hot streak in Vegas) they were left over from the last girls' night out. Which had been in Vegas. She climbed in the backseat (thank God for dark windows) and shimmied out of her work pants and into her black sequined mini skirt. Her plain black t-shirt would have to do, but digging her hands around the seat, she found her triple-D bra, as she liked to call it. "Guaranteed to add two cup sizes!" it had claimed. And by golly, that advertisement did not lie. She quickly shucked off her shirt and bra and replaced it with triple-D, adjusted the girls, and put on her shirt again. The shirt stretched to its limits over the bra; it became so sheer, Anna's cleavage could be seen through the shirt.
What a sight I am, she thought to herself. Alex would kill me if he saw me out like this!
Thankfully, Alex would certainly not be out that night. It was his night for dog duty and poop-scooping. Nothing would interrupt her plan.
Anna climbed between the driver and passenger seats and situated herself behind the wheel of the Behemoth. She felt like she drove a monster truck whenever she took the Suburban out. But Alex had insisted they buy it; Dewey, their purebred Corgi, needed the space to run around in when they took road trips, Alex said. Anna saddled up and sped away to the Martini Glass, a seedy, but not scary, bar best known for their burlesque dancers. Its name came from the Dita von Teese-esque act the dancers put on every night.
The parking lot lay half-empty when she arrived. Disappointed by the turn out, but not unfazed, she exited from the Behemoth. She slowly sauntered to the wood door, accentuating the sway of her hips enough to draw some cat calls from men smoking outside.
Good, she thought to herself. I haven't lost it.
When she entered the bar, she subtly removed her ring and slipped it into her purse. There was no need to foul up some potential flirting to draw upon later while she worked on her book.
She slid up to the bar and mounted one of the bar stools. The stage lay directly behind her, a perfect viewing opportunity for later.
The barkeep approached her. "What will it be tonight?"
"Just a vodka cran, thanks."
"Want to start a tab?"
Anna nodded a yes.
The bartender provided her with the requested drink and turned to serve the man who sat next to her. While she drank, she caught a sly side glance of this sexy stranger. Dark hair, chiseled jaw, blue eyes made of water from Hawaii. And just the tiniest hint of a 5 o'clock shadow. What woman wouldn't want him?
The bartender brought Sexy Stranger his drink. Condensation had already started to drip down the side of her glass, creating a damp circle on the white napkin. Something of Anna's also grew damp by the second.
Playing coy, she raked her nails up and down the glass and averted her eyes from Sexy Stranger. She knew he wanted to talk to her, so she let him make the first move. She stole another look at him when he drank his beer, his Adam's apple prominent and moving with each slow swallow. He set his mug down.
"New here?" he queried Anna without moving to look at her. Instead of looking directly at her, he stared straight ahead into the mirror hanging over the back of the bar. His eyes went to his beer, and then his beer to his lips.
"Yeah, first time. But I hear the show is amazing."
The mug went down with a solid thud. "You've heard right."
Anna stuck out her hand awkwardly. "A...bby."
"Mike," he replied and took her hand in his.
He has the softest hands I've ever felt, Anna thought.
"You must be a regular, then?" she asked.
Mike took another sip of beer, finishing off the glass. He motioned for a second beer. "Yeah, my regular Thursday night hang out, I guess. It's my number one go-to spot to pick up hot ladies named Abby."
Anna couldn't help but roll her eyes to herself, but politely laughed at Mike's joke. "There must be a lot of Abby's in the world," she jabbed.
Mike smirked at her, but his stare remained intense. Anna knew at that moment that he had not joked about picking up hot ladies on Thursday nights. She also realized that meant he intended to pick her up, and that was much farther than she wanted to go for this experiment. Instead, she played along, and would continue to until she felt she had enough information.
Done in the name of research, she told herself.
