felt the overwhelming
urge to demonstrate to him (without any room for doubt) that he
was not when she realised that if she got them all drinks, she
could be away from his crowd for at least a few minutes as well as
have time to figure out how she was going to make the night end
very early.
Therefore, Sibyl stalked to the
bar.
But not before hearing
Steve say in a loud whisper, “Isn’t she fit? ”
She felt the urge to turn on
her heel and run, except her shoes would not allow it.
As was usual (so usual, she
didn’t notice it) upon her arrival at the bar, the bartender
ignored the other people clamouring for a drink and jogged up to
her.
“What’ll it be?”
“Five pints of lager, and a
vodka lemonade with a splash of lime cordial, lots of ice and a
cherry, if you have it,” she answered and smiled at him. The effect
of her smile caused the bartender to nod eagerly at her strange
drink order, deciding instantly that if they didn’t have cherries,
he’d go to the nearest store and steal a jar if he had to.
“ You’re pretty.” Sibyl
heard this come from the man who was somehow managing to be
unsteadily seated on the barstool next to her, looking as if he’d
lived there at least a year.
“Thank you,” Sibyl said
politely but then turned away.
She wasn’t normally rude to
people but she also didn’t fancy striking up a conversation with an
obviously highly inebriated man (she’d had enough troubles with men
the last few days, thank you very much), especially considering her
shoes would not allow her to affect a hasty retreat should she need
to do so (and she vowed never to wear high heels again, or, at the
very least, on a first date, something which she also doubted she’d
do again).
The man swayed then righted
himself before he slurred decisively, “I’ll buy you a drink.”
It was at this moment
that Sibyl realised Steve hadn’t given her any money to buy all of
his friends a drink, friends who she had known no longer then
fifteen minutes and the fact of the matter she didn’t know them at
all since she hadn’t been given their names. Nor had he (or Sibyl
herself for that matter), asked any of the women if they wanted a beverage.
“Thank you but I don’t think
so,” Sibyl answered the drunk, stopping herself from going back and
asking the women, none of whom said a word to her except “Heya,”
what drinks they wanted.
The drunk awkwardly stood,
swayed again doing a full, unsteady loop with his upper body and
carefully enunciated, “I said, I’ll buy you a drink.”
She turned toward him, saw his
bloodshot eyes and then he breathed out. Even though he was still
not very close, she smelled his drink-laced breath.
She tried not to wince but knew
she was unsuccessful.
“I’m sorry but I’m fine. I
don’t need you to buy me a drink,” she replied firmly.
Kind, polite, controlled
and not unnecessarily ill-mannered, she was quite pleased with
herself.
The bartender put her glass on
the bar with a smile.
At its arrival, the drunk
slammed the palm of his hand on the bar with such force that it
made a loud smacking sound and she jumped. Several of the patrons
close to her (and some not-so-close) turned around to look.
“I’m buyin’ that drink!” the
drunk slurred loudly and lurched toward her, leaning into her face,
his fetid breath hitting her like a slap.
Sibyl immediately became
alarmed, her body tensed and she took a hurried step back to flee
and slammed into a solid, hard wall.
“She’s with me.” A voice came
from behind her. It was vaguely familiar, low, deep and absolutely
lethal.
She glanced over her shoulder
to see who her rescuer was and stared in disbelief (and not a small
amount of shock) at Colin Morgan.
The drunk also turned to look
and saw the tall, broad-shouldered man with the frightening look on
his face standing so close behind the pretty girl that their bodies
were touching.
“All right, mate, no need to
get uptight.” The drunk put his hands up
urge to demonstrate to him (without any room for doubt) that he
was not when she realised that if she got them all drinks, she
could be away from his crowd for at least a few minutes as well as
have time to figure out how she was going to make the night end
very early.
Therefore, Sibyl stalked to the
bar.
But not before hearing
Steve say in a loud whisper, “Isn’t she fit? ”
She felt the urge to turn on
her heel and run, except her shoes would not allow it.
As was usual (so usual, she
didn’t notice it) upon her arrival at the bar, the bartender
ignored the other people clamouring for a drink and jogged up to
her.
“What’ll it be?”
“Five pints of lager, and a
vodka lemonade with a splash of lime cordial, lots of ice and a
cherry, if you have it,” she answered and smiled at him. The effect
of her smile caused the bartender to nod eagerly at her strange
drink order, deciding instantly that if they didn’t have cherries,
he’d go to the nearest store and steal a jar if he had to.
“ You’re pretty.” Sibyl
heard this come from the man who was somehow managing to be
unsteadily seated on the barstool next to her, looking as if he’d
lived there at least a year.
“Thank you,” Sibyl said
politely but then turned away.
She wasn’t normally rude to
people but she also didn’t fancy striking up a conversation with an
obviously highly inebriated man (she’d had enough troubles with men
the last few days, thank you very much), especially considering her
shoes would not allow her to affect a hasty retreat should she need
to do so (and she vowed never to wear high heels again, or, at the
very least, on a first date, something which she also doubted she’d
do again).
The man swayed then righted
himself before he slurred decisively, “I’ll buy you a drink.”
It was at this moment
that Sibyl realised Steve hadn’t given her any money to buy all of
his friends a drink, friends who she had known no longer then
fifteen minutes and the fact of the matter she didn’t know them at
all since she hadn’t been given their names. Nor had he (or Sibyl
herself for that matter), asked any of the women if they wanted a beverage.
“Thank you but I don’t think
so,” Sibyl answered the drunk, stopping herself from going back and
asking the women, none of whom said a word to her except “Heya,”
what drinks they wanted.
The drunk awkwardly stood,
swayed again doing a full, unsteady loop with his upper body and
carefully enunciated, “I said, I’ll buy you a drink.”
She turned toward him, saw his
bloodshot eyes and then he breathed out. Even though he was still
not very close, she smelled his drink-laced breath.
She tried not to wince but knew
she was unsuccessful.
“I’m sorry but I’m fine. I
don’t need you to buy me a drink,” she replied firmly.
Kind, polite, controlled
and not unnecessarily ill-mannered, she was quite pleased with
herself.
The bartender put her glass on
the bar with a smile.
At its arrival, the drunk
slammed the palm of his hand on the bar with such force that it
made a loud smacking sound and she jumped. Several of the patrons
close to her (and some not-so-close) turned around to look.
“I’m buyin’ that drink!” the
drunk slurred loudly and lurched toward her, leaning into her face,
his fetid breath hitting her like a slap.
Sibyl immediately became
alarmed, her body tensed and she took a hurried step back to flee
and slammed into a solid, hard wall.
“She’s with me.” A voice came
from behind her. It was vaguely familiar, low, deep and absolutely
lethal.
She glanced over her shoulder
to see who her rescuer was and stared in disbelief (and not a small
amount of shock) at Colin Morgan.
The drunk also turned to look
and saw the tall, broad-shouldered man with the frightening look on
his face standing so close behind the pretty girl that their bodies
were touching.
“All right, mate, no need to
get uptight.” The drunk put his hands up
Similar Books
