(Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha, and any of the characters. This
is the part where I make a joke wishing I did, right? Well even if I do
wish that, I'm not gonna say a thing.)
This was the second date Inuyasha was going to take her on, this new woman. Even if their first date was but a random meeting, it was a record in his case. The past few years had been nothing but woman after woman and then some. Business with his brother was a very minimal part of his life. Even his time at work had been chases of the new secretaries he had hired. And he only put them on the staff so he could freely stare at their chests. Something to pass the time, really.
For what was time anymore? Days faded into nights, nights into pretty sunrises with hangovers and another woman sharing his bed. Where would the spiral end? Every night there was another bimbo waiting at the bar ordering ice in her alcohol, or sipping at her cigarette like it was a martini. And as if on cue another one would ask him, "Is any one sitting here?" And he would tell her no. Then he would order her a drink. Then they would sit there and make empty small talk. But soon he had them back at the fancy apartment he had bought not by working hard, but wooing women, just like he would then.
After they bonded in the scarlet sheets, they would pour their hearts out to him, telling their worries and their dreams. They would tell them their entire existences, and once they were done, he felt as if he had just finished off another cheep six-pack, and threw it in the garbage. The next night he saw the women watching him from a distance, but never again approaching him. Then a new six-pack came along and soon he sucked her dry and left her like an empty broken bottle.
It was horrible what he did to these women, he knew. But it was like an addiction, an obsession. Until that night when he first met her at his usual bar.
She didn't ask if the seat was empty, she just sat down. Her hair was long and raven black, and her eyes like melted chocolate. She didn't even look at him before she got a glass of champagne.
"Come here often?" He had asked her.
"No, my first time. Just came to dance." She told him.
"Than what are you doing at an empty bar, sitting next to me?" He had asked. Her only reply was a secret smile. He took her and then and they danced. When she danced, her whole body moved to the music, like she was a part of it. Thought he stood half a foot above her small slender body, he could see every sumptuous curve beneath her dress. It left nothing to the imagination.
That night, they didn't merge in bed. Instead she told him that she had an interview in the morning and couldn't be hung over and exhausted. He liked the way she had phrased that, knowing she used the word exhausted purposely. In his hand he held her number, scrawled on a napkin.
Then he thought, 'I forgot to get her name. . .'
Next Chapter: The second date and the new assistant . . . keep reading.
This was the second date Inuyasha was going to take her on, this new woman. Even if their first date was but a random meeting, it was a record in his case. The past few years had been nothing but woman after woman and then some. Business with his brother was a very minimal part of his life. Even his time at work had been chases of the new secretaries he had hired. And he only put them on the staff so he could freely stare at their chests. Something to pass the time, really.
For what was time anymore? Days faded into nights, nights into pretty sunrises with hangovers and another woman sharing his bed. Where would the spiral end? Every night there was another bimbo waiting at the bar ordering ice in her alcohol, or sipping at her cigarette like it was a martini. And as if on cue another one would ask him, "Is any one sitting here?" And he would tell her no. Then he would order her a drink. Then they would sit there and make empty small talk. But soon he had them back at the fancy apartment he had bought not by working hard, but wooing women, just like he would then.
After they bonded in the scarlet sheets, they would pour their hearts out to him, telling their worries and their dreams. They would tell them their entire existences, and once they were done, he felt as if he had just finished off another cheep six-pack, and threw it in the garbage. The next night he saw the women watching him from a distance, but never again approaching him. Then a new six-pack came along and soon he sucked her dry and left her like an empty broken bottle.
It was horrible what he did to these women, he knew. But it was like an addiction, an obsession. Until that night when he first met her at his usual bar.
She didn't ask if the seat was empty, she just sat down. Her hair was long and raven black, and her eyes like melted chocolate. She didn't even look at him before she got a glass of champagne.
"Come here often?" He had asked her.
"No, my first time. Just came to dance." She told him.
"Than what are you doing at an empty bar, sitting next to me?" He had asked. Her only reply was a secret smile. He took her and then and they danced. When she danced, her whole body moved to the music, like she was a part of it. Thought he stood half a foot above her small slender body, he could see every sumptuous curve beneath her dress. It left nothing to the imagination.
That night, they didn't merge in bed. Instead she told him that she had an interview in the morning and couldn't be hung over and exhausted. He liked the way she had phrased that, knowing she used the word exhausted purposely. In his hand he held her number, scrawled on a napkin.
Then he thought, 'I forgot to get her name. . .'
Next Chapter: The second date and the new assistant . . . keep reading.