She Slapped the Last Guy, How Much Worse Could This Be?

“You’re too good for this place, y’know,” I say, staring straight ahead at the bottles of Jack lining the back wall.

“And what makes you think that?” the blonde asks, leaning forward to look into my face. She wants my attention.

“You’re a good looking lady sitting alone in the corner of a bar. Need I say more?”

“I tried talking to some of the guys. None of them bit,” she says, and this is when I choose to glance down at her face. Yep, she's got great tits.

“And that’s why you’re too good for this place,” I say, looking straight ahead again. “You need to find yourself a man who can do this.”

Dave pulls up just then with two drinks. “Serving up a Glendronach 18 on the rocks for the sir, and a Manhattan for the lady,” he says, setting out both drinks with a flourish. “Both compliments Of the gentleman, of course.” He gives me a pat on the shoulder on his way out.

I pause for a second, letting her drink in the atmosphere. Then, I lift my whiskey.

“Cheers,” I say, and we clink glasses.

She sets her glass down a second later. I turn to face her. Blondie’s looking a little flushed already, and it’s not the **** speaking. Dave might not approve of my life-decisions, but he’s always been an impeccable wing-man.

“So, who’s the guy sweet enough to buy me a drink?” she asks, playing a little coy as she fiddles with the drink.

“Markus,” I say. “And you are?”

“Lizzie. Or more often these days, Lizzie from Sales,” she says. “HR just got a Lizzie too.”

“So you were there first?” I ask, and she nods. “Well then, she should clearly be Lizzie from HR, and you should just be Lizzie. That’s how that works.”

“I don’t mind it that much,” she laughs, covering her mouth a little. She takes another sip from her drink. “So long as they don’t call me Elizabeth.”

“What’s wrong with that? Elizabeth’s a pretty name,” I say.

“Oh gods no. It’s what my mother used to call me,” she shudders. She places a hand on my arm and looks at me, dead serious. “There are three things I can’t stand. Spicy food, dating apps, and being called Elizabeth.”

“That’s quite a list,” I say with a smile. "Short and sweet, I like it.”

“And I hate those things,” she says, loosening up a little now that I’ve implicitly agreed to her demands. “Spicy food, because I really can't take the heat. And I get cranky when I’m hungry.” I nod, gesturing for her to go on. “Dating apps, because I don’t use them, so if my guy does, then I assume he’s cheating on me. And Elizabeth, because, well, I just told you.”

“Hey Dave,” I call out, flagging down his attention. “Can you get a plate of flaming hot buffalo wings for me and Elizabeth here?”

Dave gives me a thumbs up, and then a hand flashes in the corner of my vision. There’s a SMACK, and I wince slightly. Lizzie’s gotten up, my cheek is sore, and she takes a big swig out of her cocktail.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” she says, and then she’s gone.

Fuck, that stung. I rub my hand on my cheek, grimacing slightly. Fuck. I really thought I had that one in the bag. I reach out for my whiskey, and then my eye widens a fraction. She’s left her purse here. Could it be that she really just went to the bathroom? Or did she just forget it on her way out?

Then it occurs to me. There might be a way to find out. I pull out my phone, and check the Affection Multiplier. I scroll down through the list of names, until I arrive at the newest entry.

Elizabeth Kestrel, Score: 40

Oh fuck yes. That’s the highest score I’ve seen yet!

“Want me to actually get you those wings? I don’t think the lass is comin’ back,” Dave says, pulling up to my side again.

“Bet you the tab that she’s back within five,” I say, and Dave raises an eyebrow.

“You just lose your job or something?” I must look pretty shocked, because Dave laughs, patting me on the shoulder. “You always gamble when you’re ****. It was just a lucky guess.”

“It’s not just that,” I say, rubbing the sore spot on my cheek. With my luck, there’s going to be a bloody bruise there tomorrow. “She's perfect.”

“She’s cute, I’ll give ya that, but you gotta think with your head Markus. She’s—”

“She’s back,” I say, nodding at the entrance to the lady’s room. Looks like she elected not to use the safety exit there after all.

“I’ll clear your tab,” Dave sighs, and then Lizzie plops down in her seat.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “I got… that was uncalled for.”

“I used to have temper issues too,” I say, shrugging. “I get it.”

“No, it’s not that. Well, it is,” she says, and then she pauses. “I went to the bathroom to clear my head. Because I… I think I quite like you…” Her voice trails off, and I hold a finger up to her lips. They twitch around my finger.

“How about we go back to my place and finish the conversation there?”

She nods, a little too eagerly, and we both get up. I give Dave a salute on my way out, but he only shakes his head, the rueful grin on his face telling me everything I need to know.