She brought me a glass of water and said nothing. Just swung to my end of the bar and turned right around. A casual aloofness. It wasn’t disdain, it was a sense of familiarity. Like old friends who are content to enjoy each other’s quiet company.
She’s seen my type before, the frazzled grad student who just needs a fucking drink at 2pm on a Monday so he can finally make some progress on his dissertation.
And if she wanted my attention, she surely got it. She was wearing a pair of black Doc Martins, with white frilly socks juxtaposed against golden skin. Halfway up her trim thighs, a cherry red dress interrupted her natural contours, but just so. It hugged her in all the right places. Revealed a petite frame with a surprising curve at the waist and a satisfying bulge where her ass graced the fabric. An unhealthy distance between her thighs. Probably coke induced. (Is that judgmental?)