Distraction #2
My car idles in silence. I let out a long sigh and pull my dark hood up over my head.
A mental task list of sorts forms in my mind while looking over the bar and the long line in front of the door to the small club.
If Lee is here, I need to find a new way in.
My plan will only work if I can remain unseen.
My eyes move over to the crowd of people in the long line.
The men standing next to their dates are looking desperate in similar outfits of distressed jeans and flannel shirts.
It’s like they’re photocopies of what their dates asked them to be.
Pathetic. They’re positioned behind their dates–or who they wish were their dates–with looks of impatience and overeagerness.
Their eyes move down their skin-tight clothing as it clings to each of their curves.
With each glance, I wonder how easy it would be to replace Thalia with one of these desperate-looking women.
I look around to the side of the building and notice a small alley, similar to one I familiarized myself with between Thalia’s bar and the small boutique next door. I zero in on a man coming out of a thin door next to a large, dark green dumpster. He must be one of the employees. There’s my way in.
The ricochet the door creates while it shuts is muffled by the loud noise from the crowds in front of the bars and restaurants on either side of the narrow street.
I stuff my hands in the pockets of my black zip-up sweatshirt and look both ways before crossing the busy street.
Safety first. I manage to walk through the empty alley unnoticed.
The pink light from inside the club shines under the small slot at the bottom of the door.
It creates a soft neon glow on the wet and dirty concrete.
I try my hand at jiggling the gold, metal door handle. Too fucking easy.
Making my way in through the back way of the club, I manage to get past one of the employees as I hide my face under my hood and look down towards the dark, stained carpet.
I made it in. Continuing to be inconspicuous, I walk through the short hallway, past the bathrooms and the kitchen, until I’ve made it into the small open space of the club.
The bar is near the back of the building, unlike The Neon Rose.
My senses are assaulted as I make my way through the crowded room full of barely dressed women and the smell of overpowering perfume.
Play the part, Alan. Reluctantly, I sigh and remove my hood.
I walk through the thin spaces between groups of people towards the long bar in the back of the building, continuing to push myself past many groups of people who reek of intoxication and sadness.
This is fucking pitiful. Only a few more steps and I’m there.
I find an empty space at the end of the bar and notice the bartender eyeing me up and down. Without any sign of hesitation, he gives me a wink. My mask of contempt conceals my expression as I try to hide my disgust. His eagerness is annoying as hell.
“Hey, handsome. Are you here alone tonight?” His dark mustache moves up, covering his small smirk. Remember, play the part, Alan.
“Yeah.” I parrot his smile. “I just needed to get out. Rough week at the office.”
“I get that.” His eager look stays on his face. “Do you want anything to drink?” He stands with his hands on his hips and waits for my response.
“Yeah." Keep it up, Alan . “I’ll take a bourbon and coke.”
“Coming right up.” He grabs the glass and adds a few ice cubes. I watch his hands move as he pours in the two shots of bourbon and fills the rest with Coke. His technique is sloppy. He slides the drink in front of me. “Here you go, handsome.” His mustache moves up again over his smirking lips.
“Thank you.” With a curt nod, I pick up the glass and notice the splashes of bourbon around my glass. I wipe the excess drips from my cocktail on my jeans as he walks towards the other end of the bar. Thalia would have made a better drink.
I study the people sitting at the bar with my glass in hand.
Who will be the lucky lady to make me forget that image of seeing her ride my best friend?
The women here are not my ideal. They all look like clones with masks full of makeup.
The sad excuse for outfits they wear, made of flimsy fabric, covers their obviously fake tits.
Most of the hems of their skirts sit right in the middle of their thighs, showing off their long legs.
I notice some of the women wearing their jeans skin tight as if they painted the denim directly on their flesh.
They all sit at the tables with their phones attached to their hands.
Some women scroll mindlessly while others take numerous pictures of themselves and their cocktails.
Standing with my back touching the bar, I try to hide my look of anguish. I let out a long sigh and put the glass up to my lips. More of the bourbon burns my throat as I take a long drink.
The men in the club are just as ridiculous.
Some gape at the women while they stand like lost puppies across the room.
Others peacock themselves and bravely walk up to the set of clones they've had their eyes on, only in the hope of sinking their dicks into what might as well be silicone robots. This is fucking hopeless .
I turn towards the bar and set down my half-empty whiskey glass. Maybe I should call it a night. None of these women come even close to Thalia. The thought is soon overlooked when I turn my head towards the other end of the bar. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be too hasty.
I see her long, dark, purple hair fall straight down her exposed back.
She looks towards the front of the bar and picks up her full glass.
I can’t help the way the corners of my mouth turn up as I notice her short, black fingernails.
I’ll imagine Thalia, while her black tips are wrapped around my dick later.
She keeps my attention as she brings her drink to her full, black lips.
She wraps her lips around the rim of the glass, and I think of the many places on me that I would like them to be.
So many black marks on my ivory skin. She turns her head just slightly and catches my pleasing demeanor.
Her flirtatious look gets my attention, and she grabs her tiny black purse.
Without breaking eye contact, she walks towards me at the other end of the bar. You’ll do.
Her hips sway as she walks in her tight light-washed jeans.
Her loose-fitting black silk shirt barely hangs on her slender shoulders by a small silver chain.
It hovers down her large chest like a fancy handkerchief.
Is that even a fucking shirt or just a piece of overpriced fabric?
She stops next to me and sets her glass by mine.
“Are you lost?” she asks loudly over the music blaring through the speakers. My smile widens at the question.
“If I am, would you mind showing me around?” I note the smile she tries to hide.
She picks up her glass and brings it up to her lips again.
I examine them closely. Her black lipstick sticks to the rim of the clear glass.
I mirror her movements and pick up my glass, drinking the remainder of my poorly made bourbon and coke .
“Well, that depends,” she answers.
“Really? Depends on what?” I ask, setting down my glass. My charming glow is still stretched across my face.
“It depends on how well this night goes.” She moves over my body with her large, almond-shaped, brown eyes. Oh, I think this night will go very well.
I lean back in the driver seat of my Lexus as my hands trace the curves along her slender body.
She inclines down and pushes her large breasts against my chest as her thighs straddle my lap.
I grab her hair on the nape of her neck and bring her in close to kiss her full lips, the black lipstick already smearing.
She lets out a soft moan when I gently bite down on her bottom lip.
Her hips move in just the right way as she grinds on my hard dick under my jeans.
My hands move up under her shirt and fit one of her full tits in each one.
Goosebumps cover her pale skin with the gentle kisses I trail from the middle of her neck down to her collarbone.
“I don’t know your name,” she says through her heavy breathing.
“I never gave it.” I pull her in so that her lips come back to meet mine.
“Don’t you want to know mine?” She pries after kissing me back.
“Tonight, I don’t fucking care what your name is. Stop talking, beautiful, and lie back in the passenger seat for me. ”
The look in her eyes is almost sad. The poor thing tries to hide her disappointment with a masking flirty look. I’m sorry, pretty girl. Tonight isn’t about you.
She turns her body with her back to me as she tries to awkwardly get off my lap.
Before she can successfully pivot herself around in the seat, I roughly grab the back of her head and slam it hard into the passenger window.
Her body falls limp on the smooth leather surface.
I fixate on the small drops of blood on the glass and how they correspond to the ones on her forehead.
Oh fuck, I can’t wait to see how you taste.
Her body slumps down in the passenger seat.
Her chest moves slowly up and down while her heavy eyelids close.
Good. She’s still alive.