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*
She locked eyes with him as the band began their second set. He didn't know it yet, but he was going home with her. She'd been watching him play for several weeks now, a different bar or club each weekend. Why him? Didn't really matter, but he was easy on the eyes and she liked how he made his guitar sing. One might say he had talented fingers, but she wasn't one for clichés. He also wasn't shy, and joked with the audience between songs, giving her a glimpse of who he was offstage.
By the third song, Pete could hardly keep his eyes off of her, the leggy brunette in the second row. Her body swayed to the music, her hips hinting at a more primal rhythm. She wasn't a knock-out, but there was something about her that captivated him. He felt drawn to her, and he decided to introduce himself after the set.
She was ordering a Skinny Bitch (vodka and diet coke) when he tapped her on the shoulder. As she turned her head, her hair tickled his nose with the scent of flowers. Not the fragrance he'd expected, but it was a nice surprise in a smoky room. He tossed a five on the bar.
"It's on me."
"Not yet, it's not," she replied, looking him squarely in the eyes.
Pete wasn't entirely sure how to take that, but he suspected that more than one guy had ended up with a drink poured over his head after pissing her off. He had never had a drink dumped on him before, and he wasn't about to let that happen tonight.
"Perhaps we've started off on the wrong foot," he said, flashing her a boyish grin. "I'm Pete."
"Catherine."
"Nice to meet you, Cathy. My friends call me Smo."
"It's Catherine," she said firmly, and turned away.
Pete stood there for a second, not quite sure what had just gone wrong, but suspecting whatever it was, it was his fault. "Perhaps this night wasn't going to go well after all," he thought, tossing back the rest of his beer before heading back to the stage.
+ + +
Pete looked for her during the third set but couldn't find her. He was surprised that he felt disappointed. He usually didn't care much one way or the other, because he had Megan waiting at home. "Had" being the operative word, you see. She moved out last weekend, saying she "needed a break" which really translated into "breaking up" in Megan-speak. Pete thought "taking a break" meant "taking a break but coming back," but definitions weren't the only thing they didn't agree on, apparently. So while he was newly single and still smarting somewhat from the seemingly-sudden demise of his first live-in relationship, he also wasn't one for cheap tawdry sex or rolls in the hay with strangers, either. He'd found he really preferred some sort of emotional connection, some sort of friendship in place, before bedding a woman. Besides that, it was certainly safer. Like his mom used to say, "Don't put that in your mouth – you don't know where it's been!"
So why was he disappointed that Catherine wasn't there for the third set, when she'd seemed so obviously interested? Hard to say, really. Pete thought she was cute, of course, and she seemed interested in him, which was certainly good for the old ego. He had hoped to at least ask her to grab a bite to eat with him at the all-night diner next door once he'd helped load up all the band gear. He just didn't feel like drinking any more tonight and a little company – especially from someone who was easy on the eyes – would have been nice. No matter, really. He'd still go get a slinger and then head home and hit the rack. Tomorrow afternoon he had tickets to a double-header against the Cubs, which required twice the amount of beer at the ballpark.
+ + +
She couldn't believe he had the audacity to call her Cathy. What was with guys thinking every girl had to end her name in a –y? Well, he'd learn pretty quickly that it was Catherine, and she wouldn't tolerate anything else...with a few exceptions, but that was better explained later, after she'd fucked him a few times.
