I downed the final gulp of my seventh drink of the night. Removing my tie and unbuttoning the top button of my shirt, I flagged down a waitress.
"Another martini?" she asked.
"Yes, please. A little drier this time." I flashed her that crooked smile that I knew would leave her weak in the knees. She sauntered back towards the bar, with a little extra sway to her hips, added especially for me. With my distraction momentarily gone, I focused on my chosen prey for the evening. A petite woman sat alone at the far end of the bar. Her pale skin was flawless, mahogany curls softly cascaded over her shoulder, and I could see the top of her black stocking where her skirt had ridden up when she crossed her legs.
Any other woman would have been in my bed by now – but this one was feisty, different than any other woman I've encountered. I have watched her turn away numerous suitors. Some of them were actually spinning a good game, but she didn't even glance at them. She simply murmured something, and they would take off.
The waitress set my drink in front of me and smiled. "Do you need anything else, sir?" I shook my head "no" and continued to form my plot of bedding the woman at the bar.
This woman is one who won't sway easily. She knows exactly what she wants, confidence radiates off of her. I'll have to be direct, but subtle. How exactly does one walk up to a woman and ask her if she wants to fuck without spewing a corny line? I was running out of time. I have been watching her for over two hours now, and judging by the way she kept glancing at the clock on the wall, I wasn't going to have another two hours to figure out how to do this.
I turn around to try and flag down a waitress. Sending her a drink first might help, although I've watched her turn down other drinks tonight, it might give me an opening, at least a look of acknowledgement that I'm here.
When I turn back around, she's no longer at her spot at the bar. Frantically I search the room with my eyes, careful not to move my head around too much. I don't want to come off panicky.
Another martini appears before me, being placed by a small, creamy hand with a simple silver bracelet on its wrist. The same bracelet I've watched my prey toy with. She pulls out the chair across from me, and gracefully sits down.
"I got tired of waiting for you to approach me."
"I was just about to send you a drink." I smiled at her.
"Hmmm. I've been turning down drinks all night. What makes you think I would have accepted yours?" She leaned forward placing both elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands. She wasn't wearing a bra. I tried to regain my composure, and look her in the eye instead of the supple mounds that were being pushed up by the table.
"Because of who I am." I replied. There have been women who have creamed themselves at the very sound of my name. A fact I have greatly used to my advantage in the dating department. While they'd deny it if you asked them directly, for many women money is unbelievable sexy. And on the west coast, the name Cullen is synonymous with cash.
She looked me in the eye and said, "I don't care who you are." I've heard that before. She doesn't care who I am until she's somehow mysteriously pregnant in a few months and telling me who I need to make the check out to get it "taken care of."
"You don't care who I am? What's your game? Take me back to your place where you've poked holes in all the condoms and forget to take your pill? Or are we going back to my place so you can rob me blind when I get in the shower in the morning?" I may want to fuck her, but not enough to have my life fucked with. My big brother learned that the hard way, and currently shells out nearly half a million every month in child support for a set of twins that he created with a gold digging slut in Vegas. I'm not about to let that happen to me.
She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared me right in the eye. "I don't care who you are. I don't want to know your name, occupation, favorite food, or anything else about you. I won't tell you may name, occupation, or anything about me. I am simply here with a proposition."
"Ah, I see you want to know nothing about me, but want to make a deal with me? Do I look that fucking stupid to you?"
"My proposition is a simple one. Like I said, I don't want to know anything about you, and you won't know anything about me. We will meet each other as often as necessary, to live out our every sexual fantasy as complete strangers. We'll find a neutral meeting place like a hotel room- although some of mine will take us to public places- and make those fantasies a reality."
She's good, but I'm still not going to fall for it. This woman knows exactly who I am, if she wanted a stranger she could have picked any of the numerous men who approached her with her offer, but she waited, and approached me instead.
"I think you may be running one of the best games I've ever encountered, perhaps even better than my own. However, like I said before, I'm not fucking stupid, but you definitely get a point for originality." I stood up and threw two hundred down on the table. "If you really wanted to live out your every sexual fantasy with a stranger, you've had more than plenty of opportunities tonight to do so."
"You weren't my first choice. There was a man, probably Hispanic or Native American, he was my first choice. My idea scared him off, or perhaps it was my forwardness. My proposition doesn't seem to be scaring you off, but your general distrust of my sex."
I sat back down and gaped at her. Never has Edward Cullen been someone's second choice. The logical part of my brain was telling me she knew that, and this was all apart of her plan, but the hit my ego took had left me speechless.
"Last call! Time start getting the hell out of here people." The bartender's shouting tore me out my thoughts.
"Look, we don't have much time left. Just think about my offer. Here's a prepaid phone. There's only one number programmed in it, and it goes to another prepaid cell that I have. You have until Wednesday. If you don't want to do this – just drop the phone off here at the bar, and I'll pick it up. If you do, we'll do one of your fantasies first. Leave me a message about what you want to do, and I'll let you know once the arrangements have been made for us to do it." She slid the phone across the table to me, and stood up to leave. It was a cheap phone, probably wouldn't work outside of the city, but for whatever reason I took it.
As she walked toward the exit, she looked over her shoulder and said, "Be sure to leave a very detailed message, I wouldn't want to get anything wrong," and with that she was gone.