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I stay in the hotel room for another two hours while I read Wuthering Heights again. But soon enough the constant tick of the clock hung on the wall is grating on my nerves so bad that I want a drink.
I never drink.
I choose to change and end up in fishnet tights, a blue one-shouldered dress that cuts mid-thigh with my favourite pair of black heels. Half an hour later my hair is successfully pulled into a loose bun with tendrils falling and my lashes extended with mascara. I'm ready.
The bar atmosphere is warm, cozy and very upbeat. Business men in their Prada suits are sitting in small groups, sipping on their pale coloured drinks as they type away, rich trophy wives sit at the bar and flirt shamelessly with the young bartenders and couples sit in the dimmed booths to the rear of the bar, whispering sweet nothings to each other.
I want to gag and sit on one of the stools. A bartender approaches me with a smug look on his face, brown eyes searching mine for..something. Wow, London is weird.
"What you wantin', sweetheart?" The British accent is strong and I grin. I love it.
"Martini on the rocks, please." I murmur and smile. He brings me my drink with an wink and I blush.
He chuckles and walks away. Damn my blush!
I take a sip and look around then my eyes look on a God.
An Adonis, surely. He can't be human. My heart races.
Then he smiles and starts walking towards me.
Shit!