It's a stretch, but the blaring music and the couple of beers that Alfred's already had could be what makes him think the girl right in the center of the club, dancing with some ravenhaired asshole who's obviously just after her tits, is the finest piece of lady he's ever seen.
A long, crazy stretch, of course. Damn is she smoking hot if he does say so, and leaning against the bar, he turns to watch her shake her hips under the guy's hands with a stupid smirk on his face. Who had a bigger smirk, he wasn't sure. It was going to be the blonde, really damn soon. Ha-ha, suck my dick, loser.
Well that didn't really matter much. Giving his brother a whack with a mutter of "watch my beer", Alfred slid off the barstool and headed the lady's direction. She just looked better and better the closer he got, and he ignored a "hey pal what the Sam Hill do you think you're doin'?" as he shoved the black-haired man away, looking at the girl who seemed to be a little miffed, but not too bad.
"'Ey there." Alfred grinned, one of those charmer grins you should never trust. She flicked her pretty auburn locks over her shoulder, raising a brow. "You should dance with me for a while, 'nstead'a that slug."
When she spoke, she had a cute accent. Italian accent, he'd say. And her voice was kind of high but still melodic. Sure as hell wasn't hard to hear but fit her good looks. "Oh, really? An' I suppose you want to pay me for a night in bed, too?" She put her hand on her hip. It was obvious to her that he'd been drinking. Glancing at the bar, she saw an empty stool, though there was a glass of something (beer, by the smell of it) there. "'s all he was after." she jerked her head to the man who'd turned away to find some other cat.
Alfred shook his head. "Nah. Jus' a nice couple hours dancin' with ya, especially if that asshole was just after a lay from you. Course," he chuckled, leaning down to put his lips by her ear, "if you're beggin' for it by th' end of the nicht, I might not argue." She groaned, pushing his face away from hers.
"You might get one dance if you don't act like some high'n mighty asshole all the damn time," she told him, green eyes glinting as the green spotlight rolled past them. "But one's it."
Comme te po' capì chi te vò bene- si tu le parle 'mmiezzo americano?
Alfred grinned as the lyrics started to the song. He knew this one. And my, didn't it fit? Maybe she wasn't first generation American, but she certainly still had the accent. He'd bet his car she could speak it flawlessly, too. Mmm, he could just imagine her whispering dirty things in Italian into his ear and oh god he was going to give that beer to Matt the second he got back to the bar.
No, he really shouldn't drink that much, he decided, but hey, that was a different situation for later, he decided, resting his hands just below her waist and the leather jacket that ended at her ribs. She'd obviously had clubbing in mind tonight, and if she were a normal girl, she'd probably have a clique of friends close by, watching her every move and tittering about it.
"One's just enough," he muttered, smirking as her hands went to rest on his shoulders. She realised why he seemed familiar, and she snickered as well. He was one of the football guys at her college. Go figure. "Just enough fer you an' me."
"Good thing, because your girlfriend ain't going to be too peachy about you dancing with me," she muttered, hiding a grin. She didn't like Amelia, anyhow. He just shrugged it off, and she danced a bit closer to him, swaying her hips like she had for the man before him.
Fa fa, l'americano-
Oh hell yes. Alfred grinned as she started to move her hips like he'd seen before. He let his hands wander lower to her hips, turning her around and leaning down to whisper. "Amelia be damned, you're hot." He thought he might recognise her, actually. The girl in his arms, not Amelia.
Well, yes Amelia but that's beside the point.
Chuckling as she could see his blue eyes wandering where she didn't want them to, she gave his chin a whack. "You have your own whore to look at." He tried to move his hands lower, maybe to her thighs, but she whacked his hand away and moved them back to her waist, though he could get away with on her hips.
Damn, she wasn't very cooperative, was she? She'd dance for him, and he danced a bit, too, but his focus was on her and the beat, wishing it'd never actually come to an end, just have the beat go on forever and never add a new song.
He huffed slightly, ignoring the glance she tossed at him with a raised brow. "Alfred, let go. The song's over." He hadn't noticed, but he tightened his grip again.
"One more?"
"No. I said one."
He shifted uncomfortably. "What's your name, anyways? How do you know mine?"
The lady rolled her eyes. "Chiara. We go to the same school, dumbfuck."
"Oh. Well, nice to meet you, Chiara," he purred, grabbing one of her hands and pulling it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back before she could twist her hand away. "I'll find you sometime, yeah?"
"Nope." Wiping her hand on her shorts, she twisted out of his grip. "Stick to the field, Jones."
He would have chased after her, but no, she stopped at a booth with a few other girls, picking something up off the table and grabbing the hand of another girl he vaguely recognized before they walked out the door, waving to their friends.
He saw the other girl give a kiss to Chiara's cheek.
Hold on, what?