Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Size Me Up
He's sitting at the bar on a much too uncomfortable wooden stool with his forearms just barely resting on the sticky bar top nursing a surprisingly decent glass of single malt scotch, which happens to be the only reason he hasn't ditched this daycare for another bar with an age minimum of at least twenty-five, when he sees her for the first time.
He had ducked into this bar in Dupont Circle, thinking he'd have a quiet night with the chance to ease his tension and unclench his fists, but he'd soon discovered his mistake. There had been a loud crowd behind him ever since he'd sat down and the sounds of overly-enthusiastic introductions and irritating laughter are only worsening his already ill humor.
He'd been about to stand and reach into his pocket for his wallet when he feels a warm body squeeze in between him and the guy next to him at the crowded bar. He turns to his right, ready to tell the person off, when he stares directly into the face of a blue-eyed blonde with a charming smile aimed directly at him.
"I'm sorry," she apologizes, though he notices that she doesn't really look sorry at all. "I just wanted to order a drink and it's so crowded in here," she explains, motioning to the jam-packed area around them.
He only nods, completely forgetting his previous intention of abandoning his post at the stool. He looks to the bartender nearest his end, finding him occupied by another customer and at least three other hands waving to get his attention. It'll be a while before he notices the girl next to him.
He looks back at her and notices her slight discomfort at having to be pressed so closely to a total stranger, though she's made no move to step away. She must need the drink badly, he thinks. It's the awkwardness of the situation that makes him forget his previous annoyance and which prompts his own playfulness to make an entrance.
"No need to make excuses to stand so close to me, love," he says to her, loud enough to be heard. The timing of his comment is delayed, but it has an effect anyway. She pauses, looking straight at him, and then laughs, a really genuine one that exposes the curve of her neck revealed by her low-cut slinky black tank. She's all white skin and long waves and now he can't look away from her black-rimmed eyes that look at him with unrestrained amusement. Eyes like that are rare around here.
"Is this city a breeding ground for arrogance or is it just bars in general that make men suffer from delusions of grandeur?" she asks, a twinkle of mirth in her eyes that makes her look even younger than she really is. He smirks at her sharp wit. He adores girls with a sharp wit.
"Perhaps both, sweetheart, but then again I've never had to suffer from anything but heightened manliness and virility, so, you see, I wouldn't be the right one to ask." He offers her a cheeky smile that makes her laugh even harder this time and he swears he hasn't heard laughter sound so pleasant in his life.
She leans in a little closer. Her hair falls across her shoulder and he can smell her flowery shampoo.
"And you suffer from no delusions of grandeur, you said?" she asks, smirking smugly like she's just shown someone up at a contest, except it's him she thinks she's showing up and he dearly hates to lose.
"None at all, love," he reassures her. "Especially not when it concerns beautiful women like yourself," he says with a charm he can't help. She's young, younger than himself, and she looks unscarred by the world yet. He never intended on hitting on her, though, especially not at this sub-par bar, and suddenly he's afraid she'll leave, so he covers up his last comment before she has a chance to respond and says, "You must not be from this city."
She waves her hand at the bartender when she notices him move on from another customer and he signals back to her that she'll be next. She turns back to him.
"Neither are you, apparently," she says. It's the British lilt that makes everyone notice him here.
The bartender comes to stand in front of her and she quickly rattles off her drink. He's sure it's something sweet, but he's not really paying attention because her exposed upper back is far too distracting.
She turns back to him with her new drink in hand and he thinks she may leave now that she's gotten what she wanted, but she only leans her side against the counter and gives him a look for him to continue.
"I'm just passing through," he says. She laughs again.
"Mhmm. And how long have you been passing through for?" she asks, like she knows something he hasn't even told her yet. He chuckles, thoroughly delighted by her gall.
"For too long, now," he finds himself admitting. This turn of conversation reminds him of the reason he's sitting at the bar in the first place and he quickly changes the subject before he can allow his mind to wander down that road again.
"And what brings you to the city of sin?" he asks.
"I thought Las Vegas was the city of sin," she responds, ignoring his question altogether.
"Oh, no, love," he shakes his head, taking a long sip of his drink. "You sell your body in Vegas, but you sell your soul in D.C. A far graver sin, in my opinion, and much more deserving of the title."
Her head gives a slight nod and the look on her face is thoughtful. Maybe she's already too aware of this truth.
"No offense, sweetheart, but I'm just curious what someone like you is doing in a city like this," he says. She narrows her eyes, about to say something, when the man seated to her other side taps her on the shoulder and motions for her to take his seat. She smiles that same bright smile he'd seen on her before and thanks the man, lowering herself onto the offered stool.
She hasn't forgotten his comment, though, and asks, "What exactly was that supposed to mean?" She looks too impatient for his response, so he purposely takes a long pull from his drink. He looks back at her, deciding that he likes the look of irritation she's wearing right now.
"I mean that you seem to already know that this city is made for the soulless. So what's a nice girl like you doing in a city like this?"
"Why do you assume I'm nice?" she asks defensively, though he can tell she's not really mad. It appears she just loves to challenge him. "How do you know I haven't sold my soul already?" she asks. He bursts into laughter, not intending to insult her, but he can't help it.
"Your soul is definitely intact, love," he says, still laughing. And she looks like she wants to shove him for a second but instead she seems happy with his answer and so she laughs along with him. Her laughter subsides and she looks down at the bar top before looking back up at him with a small smile and raised eyebrows.
"True. But you'll have to see if that's true in three years," she says. He's confused about the precise timeline she's given but he doesn't say anything, only looks at her. She tastes her drink for the first time, scrunching up her nose in disgust, but she pays it no attention, and twists around in her stool to face the large crowd behind her. Her jean-clad knees brush against his thighs as she turns.
It's only because her gaze is pointed there that for the first time since he's been here, he's curious about the crowd behind him. He turns his head slightly around to peer back, seeing a bunch of twenty-something Brocks and Katies forcing conversation and bobbing their heads up and down in agreement to whatever someone in their dull crowd is saying. They look like students, old enough to be graduate students, but too young and eager to be anything more than first-years, and now it makes sense why she said three years. She's a new law student in the city.
The sight of the crowd bores him and he turns back around to his drink. The crease in between her eyes doesn't escape his notice, though, and he has the urge to hold her slender frame in his arms. She's looks so soft and so damn pretty in this godforsaken city of ugliness.
"It won't change you if you don't let it," he says, feeling the urge to reassure her of the insecurity bubbling at her surface. Her eyes find his and she holds his stare for a second before she shakes her head.
"It's not me who changes, it's everyone else who does," she says to him with a halfhearted smile and a shrug.
"So I assume you were part of the little meet-and-greet going on over there," he says like he's asking a question he already knows the answer to.
She scoffs. "Yea, unfortunately," she replies. "I was about ready to shoot myself if one more person sized me up with their eyes." He knows law school competition is fierce. Judging by what he's seen of her in the short few minutes he's known her, he knows she can handle it, but for some reason he doesn't even want to imagine her caught up in that cesspool of viciousness.
He can't explain why he does it, but he leans in closer to her, slowly, and notices her suck in a gasp. She thinks he's going to kiss her, yet she doesn't pull away, and his breath is on her skin and her eyes are locked on him, and then at the last second he brings his lips to her ear, so close she feels the vibrations of his voice on her skin.
"Let's get out of here," he says. He leans back only slightly so he can lock his eyes on hers. She's smiling that little knowing smile of hers and this time it's her turn to lean in closely to him. Her soft cheek slides against his stubbly one as she brings her lips closer to his ear. Her hair his tickling his nose and he wants to bury himself in her waves.
"I'm not that kind of girl," she whispers. Her lips accidentally—or purposefully—brush against his earlobe as she speaks the words and it takes all of his self control not to pull her closer to him.
She leans back to face him, keeping her face close to his. There's no fear or trepidation in her eyes. She's not afraid of his proposition and she's also not afraid to give him a reply. He doesn't even care about bedding her. Hell, he'd give his left arm right now just to spend five more minutes with her.
"Let's go for a walk then," he offers. He'd beg if it comes down to it.
"I usually don't go for walks with strangers," she laughs, making him smile in return.
"But I'm not a stranger, sweetheart," he reasons. "I'm Nik," he says, sticking his hand out to shake, like it'll solve all of their problems. She looks down at his proffered hand with an incredulous smile and a raised eyebrow. "And your name?" he prompts.
She finally accepts his handshake, placing her small hand in his, and shakes. She looks up at him with a smile. "Nice to meet you. I'm Caroline," she says. His chest might burst.
"Let's get out of this place, then," he says. But he can tell she's not fully convinced. She turns her head to the side where all of her classmates are still standing around. Nobody's paying any attention to her but she still seems to be contemplating whether she should leave so early in the night.
"They won't notice you're gone, and besides, you have three years to meet these people." It seems to have been the right thing to say because she turns to him smiling and then hops off her stool. She takes one last sip of her drink, forgetting that she'd hated it, and takes a long sip which leaves her scrunching up her nose again.
"Ugh, that drink is awful," she says to herself.
He gets up, too, throwing a few bills on the counter, and she turns to him in a haste, her arm on his bicep. "Wait here, I'll be right back." He doesn't even get a chance to nod before she's zooming back into the crowd. He catches sight of her bending down and talking to a brunette girl at a table. She nods over in his direction and the other girl's eyes look over to him. His girl grabs a little purse she slings over her shoulder and a small sweater that the other girl hands to her and then she's back at his side.
"Sorry, I just had to tell my roommate I'm leaving," she explains. "Let's go."
He doesn't need any more encouragement than that. He leads her to the exit with his hand placed on the small of her back. He opens the door for her and they're assaulted with the humid heat of the August night.
"How is it possible that it's hotter out here than it was at the bar?" she complains. He laughs. His hands are stuck in his pockets now and she's walking beside him in heels that still leave her shorter than him.
True enough, the streets are bustling on this weekend night and it doesn't feel as awkward walking together anymore.
"So where are you from, Caroline?" he asks.
"A small town in Virginia," she replies. "Born and raised. And you?"
"Wales, though I spent a few years living in London before I came here," he explains.
"And do you like it here?" she asks, turning to look up at him with those pure eyes.
"Not particularly, no," he laughs, shaking his head.
"Well, that's super encouraging," she teases.
"I didn't mean for it to come out like that, love," he rushes. "It's just that, if you're lucky, this city is exactly what you make of it. But for the unlucky ones, it sucks you up without you even noticing."
"I guess I'll just have to pay attention, then." She offers him a playful smile.
"I have no doubt you will, love," he smirks.
They cross the busy street and turn the corner when he notices the small ice cream place that's nothing more than a hole in the wall. He's surprised it's still open at this hour.
"Have you tried this place before?" he asks. She looks to where he's pointing and shakes her head no. "It's my sister's favorite," he explains. "Do you want some?"
She shrugs in acceptance, though her eyes light up at the prospect of late-night dessert. He smiles at her childlike expression and leads her into the small shop. They make their orders to-go. She orders a cup of three different flavors of chocolate while he orders vanilla and hazelnut. She offers to pay, citing that he already paid for her drink back at the bar, but he insists that it's his treat.
They take their ice cream outside, and he can't help the suspicion that this feels incredibly like a first date.
"There's a park across the street," he points. "Want to find a place to sit there?"
"Sure," she agrees. They make their way over there and sit at the nearest bench. There's small groups of people scattered all about the grass. Music is playing from a distant place and he suspects someone has brought their guitar. The streetlights light up the park and he has to admit it looks beautiful.
He glances over at her, noting her silence and the charmed look on her face. She notices him staring and turns around so she's facing him. The bench is large enough that she can sit cross-legged.
"Tell me about yourself, Nik." Her eyes are dancing and she eats a spoonful of her ice cream.
"What do you want to know?" he asks. And it's just politeness that has him asking the question, but it doesn't really matter because he'll tell her anything she wants to know anyway.
She asks about his family, about his four brothers and if he's close with his mother and sister. She scoots closer to him when he talks about the cruelty of his stepfather but she's reduced to uncontrollable fits of laughter when he recounts the story of the prank he played on his brother that backfired and had him in a cast for four months, but was worth every minute.
He swipes a spoonful of her ice cream when she laughs at his admission that he nearly drowned trying to impress a girl in grade school because he'd forgotten that he didn't know how to swim. She'd pretended to bat his hand away from her cup while actually sneaking a spoonful from his own cup and her laughter had filled the night as he denounced her sneaky ways.
He asks her about her two brothers and if she was the typical all-American girl in high school. She admits to her past as cheerleading captain, and when she explains Miss Mystic Falls to him, he expresses his true heartfelt wish to have been able to witness that. She's unabashedly stealing spoonfuls from his cup now and he doesn't even stop her, though he does tease her about how she fits it all into that little body of hers. She replies in between a mouthful of freezing ice cream that she has her fast metabolism to thank, and then goes back to finishing off her own cup.
They talk and laugh until her head is resting on his shoulder, his hand twirling lazy circles on her bare arms, and they're watching the night fade into the light. The sun is peeking slowly above the tips of the treetops and he asks her if this is her first D.C. sunrise. She lifts her head to face him and nods, smiling a contented smile.
She slowly lifts her palm to his cheek and thumbs her finger across the stubble on his chin. Her face leans in and her nose brushes against the tip of his own. She lowers slightly so her lips are ghosting kisses along the side of his neck and all along his jawline.
She's so soft and gentle that he can't help lift his hand to brush his fingers through her blonde waves. They're even softer than he imagined and he's anxious to feel her lips on his. Just then she leans back to fully look at him, capturing his darkened eyes with hers, and then her hands brace the sides of his face and her lips descend onto his. She's sweet and deliciously soft and he can't help letting himself go as he deepens the kiss. It's a wonder how he lasted the whole night without doing this.
They both need air, though, and so they pull back slightly, though their hands as still on one another and their foreheads are touching.
"Do you usually kiss strangers?" he breathes. She giggles against his lips.
"You're not a stranger. You're Nik," she explains, smiling. She brushes her fingers into his hair and takes up his lips with hers once again.