I was meeting close friends John and Ryan at the club. They were bringing Mark, a friend of John's from university who'd recently moved to the city. That might sound like they were trying to hook us up but I'd never needed their help. They knew I'd end the evening with him anyway, as long as he was reasonably good-looking.
He was better, but much too controlled for my tastes. The green-hazel eyes were calm and probing, all at the same time, the mouth with its thin upper lip and full lower lip didn't get a lot of exercise as if he thought through every thing before he spoke, not a single blond strand out of place. That tall built body was still encased in dress-up clothes from work and he barely drank. 28 years of age and already an old man. Why was everyone working in finance so damned correct and uptight?
He seemed almost disinterested in the scene around us, content with focusing on John and Ryan as they played catch up. He appeared equally disinterested in me, not gawking or trying to impress. I got the feeling he was amused by all the attention I was receiving and wasn't sure how I felt about that.
It was a little unsettling too, to talk to someone whose eyes focused so completely on my own without any of the familiar shifting across my face or down my body.
"What do you do?" he asked me shortly after we'd been introduced.
"Modeling," I said briefly.
Anyone else would have said 'oh, you're a model, how exciting'. Not him. Mr.Finance just nodded. I already knew he was a business analyst.
"Paid to lie around and look pretty while the rest of us work hard for a decent living," John smirked.
"Fuck off," I said idly. It was an old game.
My face would probably never be plastered across bill-boards but I was at the stage where there was enough steady work coming in that I didn't have to worry. There had been a tough couple of years after I'd left home where I'd gone the waiting tables route and even been part of the service eye candy behind the bar in clubs like the one I was sitting in but they were long behind me now.
Ryan frowned at me. "You'll be drinking too much again if you don't watch it."
Of us three, he was the family man, the worry-wart.
I raised my glass with a mocking grin and downed what was in it. I was in one of my moods. Restless and edgy. I definitely had to take someone home tonight. I didn't often, the rest-room at the back of the club was perfectly serviceable, in more ways than one. But not today.
The evening wore on. I laughed, I entertained, I flirted with the hopefuls who came trolling. And proceeded to get a nice buzz going. I also listened to Mark reminiscing with John or just talking, reluctantly conceding that razor-sharp intellect.
We were alone at the table. Ryan and John were now out on the dance floor. It was after midnight, time to go home.
I turned to him and placed a hand high up on his thigh. "Want to go home?" It was purely rhetorical.
"No thanks," he said politely.
"They'll understand." A little impatiently, I indicated our friends on the dance floor.
He smiled. "I'm sure." I waited but it seemed he was done.
"Let me guess, you don't fuck on the first day," I mocked. I leaned in closer, my breath washing over his ear, giving him my best camera look. Never failed. "I'd love to change your mind," I whispered.
Fuck, always these damn hoops to jump through, even when they wanted you so bad they were salivating.
"No thanks." Again the mild tone, the disinterest. And he meant it, I could tell.
I leaned back again, mind clearing slightly at these unexpected events, removing my hand from his thigh and watching him, really watching him.
He'd told John he was single. Had he lied?
"You with someone?"
He shook his head. "Not in a while."
He sipped from his glass, eyes moving back to watch the dancing, almost dismissing me.
I stared.
What else?
"Why not?" I asked finally. I wasn't upset, just curious. Whatever it was we'd work around it, and if not, I honestly didn't care, probably take too long to loosen him up in bed anyway. I wanted some fun tonight and there were willing others. I could see the redhead from last week practically bouncing with nervous energy as he lay siege near the door...
"You're not really my type."
That snapped my attention right back. Excuse me? Dark-hair, midnight blue-eyes, washboard abs was not his type? A face that had made a jaded agent's breath catch as I served him drinks five years ago not his type?
I was so startled I let out a disbelieving laugh. "What?"
He raised his brows at me but stayed silent. Oh my god, he meant it. He really meant it.
I could feel the anger starting in a place deep inside, gathering steam, pouring through my veins, filling every part of me, leaving my body almost tingling at the intensity. But damned if I'd let him have the last word.
"Well, uptight corporate whores are not my type either but that's why we'd have done it in the dark."
I got nothing for my pains. No reaction, just this bland look and more raised eye-brows as if he'd half-expected that reaction. That stung more than anything else. Who the fuck did he think he was, thinking he had me figured out in 5 minutes...
Being in front of a camera for a living gives you some acting skills. I used them.
"Oh well," I shrugged. "I feel like a three-some anyway."
I left, taking the red-head and his friend with me.
I worked even harder than usual to please that night, giving an academy performance to the one-man audience in my head. They were delirious with pleasure, I was more hollow than ever.
Of course I saw him again. John and Ryan were my closest friends and they seemed to like him, so that alone meant I had to put up with him. No matter how much he made my teeth hurt. Also he was at the club as often as I was, usually in the company of my friends. Though he did get his fair share of attention, I never saw him do more than casually converse with someone. That pleased me, especially since he had to have heard all about my reputation in bed by then. It wasn't just my looks that got me my fan following.
Most nights we'd all be sitting at a table when I'd receive an offer I couldn't turn down. John would wink slyly and Ryan would look worried. Mark would give me one of those bland looks I was beginning to hate. I'd make sure my latest offer returned from the rest-room weak-kneed and starry-eyed. Prurient bastard. Not his type, my ass.
One night several weeks later we all exited the club together, laughing and giving each other a hard time. As usual, I'd opted to go home alone. Several feet from the entrance was a little alley where light from the street-lamp did not reach.
I smelt Coop before I saw him. He stood half-hidden by the shadows, in his sad excuse of a coat, skin grimy with dirt, matted hair all over the place. He didn't often come by the club. When he did it always meant the same thing.
He grinned at me now, showing a mouthful of yellowed, rotting teeth. "Hey man."
"Hey, you ugly son of a bitch."
He grinned wider, but stayed several feet away reacting, no doubt, to the presence of the others. "It's not too bad tonight." He meant the weather.
"Yep. Burgers are good tonight too. Knock on the kitchen door out back if you feel like it, tell them I sent you. Say," I dug around in my coat, "you want some smokes?"
"You gave in again? Three years you b'in trying to quit."
I shrugged. "Some day, Coop. Can't let my agent catch me though."
