She collapses into the empty chair at the almost-as-empty bar. It's quiet, a rare relief from the droves of people wandering around outside. Of course, she's in the heart of Atlanta on a Saturday night, so she should probably just thank her stars it isn't any worse. Although, that gets her to thinking. If it is a Saturday, shouldn't there be more people in here?
"Can I help you?" a gruff voice at her elbow startles her. She feels the sharp flare of heat in her cheeks when she jerks around and takes in the sight of the bartender wiping a glass down with a surprisingly clean rag.
"Sorry," she blurts out, adamantly not noticing the strain of his muscles in that short-sleeved shirt. She didn't notice the dark sweep of his hair or his gorgeous blue eyes either, thank you very much.
She flushes anew when he lets a chuckle loose at the sight of her. He shrugs his shoulder and places the glass down in front of her.
"You come here often?" It's obvious he's teasing her, a roguish smile curling one corner of his lips. She thinks on the question and she thinks of shutting him down, but then she's always been a sucker for a nice smile. And this guy's got the nicest one she's seen in a while.
"You ask all the ladies that? Or am I just that lucky?" she quips. It's his turn to flush. She tries not to preen with pride. He looks like an unruffable guy, but then she's not so good with reading men lately. The thought sobers her up immediately and she shakes her head.
"I'll just have a Whiskey Sour, thanks." She almost feels bad as the smile is wiped off his face as easily as it had come. It's a shame really, but she didn't just run away from one psycho only to stumble into the arms of another one.
So, she hunches over her glass and stares blankly at the football game playing on the television over the left side of the bar. The world falls away a little more as she tosses her drink back. The liquid burns all the way down to her stomach. It's a good feeling, she thinks. Convicted, she waves the bartender over again. He fills her glass. She can see the questions in his eyes, can see that he wants to talk to her. For the life of her she can't imagine why. She'd spent so long being told that she wasn't worth anything, that nobody would give a damn if she just disappeared off the face of the Earth, that the idea of anyone finding her interesting is almost laughable.
"Don't go too far," she tells him. Doesn't know why she says that and throws her second glass back to cover up her own confusion. Maybe drinking was a bad idea. She could feel her tongue growing loose in her mouth and she knew it would be only a matter of time before she started talking the guy's ear off. Although weren't they a little like Therapists? Sworn to secrecy and all that?
She fixes him with a look. He returns to fill her glass again. She asks him about the therapy. He laughs again, the sound rolling up from the pits of his gut, and she finds herself laughing with him.
If his smile was nice, his laughter is gorgeous and she allows herself exactly three seconds to appreciate him for all that he is. Then she slips from her chair, leaves forty dollars on the bar top, and stalks out of the bar without so much as a thank you or goodbye. Her drink abandoned and perspiring in front of the slightly bewildered stranger.
