It's common knowledge that nobody comes to this bar for the drinks.

No. Bachelors and straying husbands come for the waitresses. Girls in their early twenties in miniskirts that rise too high when they bend over, and skimpy tops tied up at the front, revealing tanned skin, belly button piercings and tattoos.

The bar is filled with the pungent stench of beer and tobacco. The walnut lounges clearly need replacing, with the cushions sagging and leather tearing at the ends. Neon pink lights flicker weakly on the walls, showing girls lounging in martini glasses and the bar's name, Pink Leopard. It leaves much of the open tiled spaces, lounges, pool tables and bar in darkness, giving off a cold and damp feeling.

Of course, none of that matters. Because everyone knows that for the right tip, the right price, the Pink Leopard girls would indulge in the men's drunk flirting, let them have a touch, a kiss and maybe more.

It's wrong for Elliot to be here. He needs to be on the phone, calling his wife and begging her to come home, convincing her that she and the children do not need to stay at her Mother's this week because they can work things out.

Instead, he is sitting at the bar, watching one of the waitresses serve drinks. She's older than the other girls, in her mid-thirties. She has a tousle of honey brown hair that falls down in waves around her shoulders. She is wearing a leather pencil skirt, a tight tank top and black boots that reach halfway up her calves.

Elliot watches her bend over to reach for the glasses, her skirt riding up her thighs and tightening around her arse as she did so, accentuating her curves. It makes his imagination run wild.

Ellipt hasn't been able to take his eyes off her all night. Not just because of her attraction…but there was something intriguing about her, in the way she moves, the way she speaks to customers and staff, gentle yet steady and firm.

He's only looking, but his thoughts aren't innocent. He imagines what it would be like to approach her. To push her up against the table she is cleaning and have his hands sculpt their way down her body until they're squeezing the curve of her arse…

Elliot shakes his head roughly, shattering the fantasy. This is wrong. He shouldn't be here.

Just as he contemplates leaving, he hears a whistle. He whips his head around to the source of the noise, a man in his sixties, stroking his beard. It's the same man who has been cat calling this woman all night, asking her to take a break on his lap. Like she had done so many times before, the woman ignores his calls and continues working, as if she didn't hear anything.

Elliot notices that she isn't like the other girls, who are quick to invite the men in, responding to their sleazy comments and drunken whistles with a giggle and flirtatious smile. She humours their interest. But he can tell by the tightening of her lips and the smile that didn't reach her eyes, that she is nothing but repulsed by their attention.

Elliot has been eyeing the bearded man tonight. He recognises the hungry look darkening this man's gaze as he ogles the bartender. It makes Elliot's fingers curl with anger, his body tensing in his seat, as if preparing to jump up towards him.

A sudden clang startles Elliot, dragging his attention to the beverage in front of him.

"Scotch on the rocks?"

Elliot lifts his head up to the brunette who has caught his attention all night. She's studying him with an arched eyebrow. "You've been sitting here for almost an hour and haven't ordered, so I assumed."

Elliot accepts the drink with a small "Thanks."

She returns to wiping the bar and Elliot uses this moment to steal a glance. She is just as pretty up close as she is afar. She has striking dark eyes and red lipstick that coats her full lips, reminding him of rich cherries when she pouts. Unlike the other girls, Elliot can see faint lines around her eyes and cheeks, outlining previous smiles and hardships. Still, she is undeniably beautiful. But he can't help but think how out of place she looks here.

Elliot tilts his head towards a group of rowdy men who are calling out to the girls and slamming their glasses on the table.

"Are they always like this?"

The woman follows his gaze. "Drunk?"

"No. Like animals."

The dark-haired beauty watches one of the customers just as he reaches for the girl by her waist, pulling her towards him. She pauses, on alert, ready to rush in. But then the waitress begins giggling, sinking into his lap.

She lets out a small sigh, going back to cleaning the bar. "You know what some men can be like. They see a girl in a short skirt and tight top and suddenly think she's their property, like she's asking for it."

Elliot clenches his jaw. "It's disgusting."

Her eyes bloom with surprise, clearly not expecting that answer. "It is."

"I see the way they treat you as well. Do you always put up with this?"

She shrugs, her cheeks lifting. "It's nothing I can't handle."

"What about the younger girls?" Elliot asks, tilting his head towards a waitress who is squeezing a man's arm with one hand and pocketing cash in the other.

"Most of these girls are in college. I don't think they're proud of what they do…but the tips are paying for their tuition and rent. This way, they don't have to sweat through night classes and day jobs. Most of them get by comfortably only working a few nights a week."

Elliot nods slowly. He understands, but it does not make him feel any less comfortable. He imagines his own daughter working here to get through college. Suddenly, Elliot is wrecked with guilt, remembering what his earlier intentions were for the night.

"I don't usually get so many questions." The bartender leans over, resting her elbows on the bar. She winces at him curiously. "What about you? I can't believe you came here just for a cheap drink."

"Then you assumed wrong." Elliot takes a sip of his drink and places it back down, eyeing her with interest. "What about you? You don't seem like you should be working here."

She raises her eyebrows and folds her arms, studying him once more. "Oh? And I suppose you have me all pegged out?"

Elliot shrugs. "I'm a pretty good judge of character."

She breathes out a small laugh, a light tinkle in her throat. Elliot notices the dimples that touch her lips.

She continues, oblivious to his stares. "A good judge of character huh? And I suppose you developed that from your training in what, carpentry?"

Elliot's eyes round with surprise.

"You're uniform," she explains, her eyes trailing down his polo shirt to his work boots. "Judging from the mud on your boots and the debris on your collar, I'd say you just came off shift today, perhaps working on the new residential flats down the street?"

Elliot raises his eyebrows, impressed. "You have an eye for detail. Do you assess all your customers like this?"

She shrugs, smiling. "Only the ones that give me cause to, Elliot."

Elliot follows her gaze down to his nametag around his neck. He lifts his head up, his lips tilting into a smile. "You know, I never caught your name?"

She flashes him a smile of her own. "That's because I didn't give it to you."

With that, she clears his empty glass and turns on her heel to walk off. Elliot doesn't miss the sway in her hips she gives him with her exit.