I was back at the bar, drinking alone, assessing alternative options of which there were few. Hoping to see Dana again. Hoping lightning might strike twice. Debating between approaching a middle aged blonde sure thing that looked somewhat like a bitchy teacher I once hated, or a pretty college thing that couldn’t have been a day over nineteen and had the full attention of every guy in the bar.
And then Dana appeared, looking as fuckable as always in a little black dress that straddled the line between casual and trashy, emphasizing her petite frame, accentuating her hips and doing miracles to her small breasts. Just enough makeup. Hair tied back. Lipstick and a pout. A bit of a sparkle on her olive skin.
She wasn’t alone.
‘This is Jack. He’s got some coke and a room in the hotel upstairs, don’t you jack?’
Jack nodded. Jack was about ten years older than her, than us. Jack looked like a well-to-do date rapist, well built, a ring on his finger and a cunty smirk on his chiselled face. I fucking hated Jack.