“You’re in a club, twenty-one and over, and you’re drinking a kiddie drink. Designated driver?“ A gravely male voice, low and somewhat sexy, asked me.
I turned, tilted my gaze up, and froze. Any semblance of a witty retort evaporated from my tongue. Long black hair, dark eyes, heavy eyeliner, full lips, square chin. My idea of the quintessential rock star stood smirking at my drink.
I dropped my eyes and stared at his hands. Tattooed knuckles bedecked in heavy silver rings gripped a steaming mug. I couldn’t look directly at him. I already felt the wobbles of turning into once-human goo deep in my gut. I followed his hand to a wrist wrapped in leather and chain bracelets and a few dripping scarves.
“Coffee?” I managed to say.
“Yeah.” He held the mug up in salute before taking a sip. That ‘yeah’ was really quite a sexy sound.
“You’re picking on me for drinking a Roy Rogers, and you’re drinking coffee? Trying to get sober?” I’m not sure how I was able to form words. My throat was dry, and my tongue felt swollen. I always lost the ability to speak coherently around good looking men. It was a good thing I was sitting down, because I know my knees had forgotten how to work.
He huffed. “Trying to stay sober. You?”
©2017 Lulu M Sylvian. Calling Bird from The Twelve Strippers of Christmas. Available October 2017