burbon-and-lilies1

Written By Lilian.

It was one of these days – nights, to be exact. I can’t remember much of it, though. I think there was a bar; one of many. I probably had a drink in my hand; I’m not sure. I could have been smoking. Only one thing is certain; my mind was a blurry mass of thoughts, memories and desire. I wanted something to drug me and didn’t know exactly what it was. Until I laid eyes upon him.

The room darkened. The drunken couples, the dancing bitches, the lurking man-boys, everything disappeared in a puff of smoke. Everything but the strange man on the other side of the room.

Based on his posture, his goal wasn’t to be noticed, quite the contrary. No fancy clothes, no loud gestures, no muscles suffocating under a tight shirt. Only his height could betray him, but he tried to decrease even that, by leaning over the bar. His dark hair was messy, covering part of his eyes, but did a poor job hiding his glance, which was indecipherable when our eyes met.

There was something looming in the way he didn’t avoid the contact – like I had just blown his cover and he would make sure I’d pay for it. Under regular circumstances, this would scare me but, that night, it only made me curious.

At the same time I realized that there would be no clichés. He wouldn’t send me a shot and then come over and introduce himself with a cheesy line about how a woman like me could be there all alone. There would be no awkward smiles, no weird pauses, no meaningless chit-chat. But, then, what would it be?

I couldn’t answer. And I also couldn’t take my eyes off him. It’s not that he was attractive – he was almost invisible through the bar’s darkness. But I felt something connecting me with him, that we shared the same pleasure; being surrounded by people and being distant from anyone around us. I had always enjoyed that. But it never occurred to me that someone else could too.

We sat there. Still. Our eyes remained locked – but that was the extent of it. And yet, we were talking. I heard him telling me how tired he was of all the bullshit politics about how two people should meet and act. I told him that I wasn’t willing to follow them either.

As the thought crossed my mind, I could swear his lips moved upwards, although I wouldn’t call that smirk a smile. His expression changed for a fraction of a second and I felt more than actually saw something lurking deep in his eyes. Scary, challenging and intoxicating for me; I felt like he was ready to propose a bet.

What he didn’t know was that I never make a bet unless I’m sure I’ll win it. I smiled. He saw me.

We stayed there, talking like that for about two hours. I didn’t realize the bar had emptied, until, at some point, I looked around, astonished. Realizing how the time had passed, I made my decision instantly.

I paid for my drinks, took my coat and put it on – with the corner of my eye I saw his moves mirroring mine. We walked out together, like this was some kind of a routine for us and he held the door open. Casually.

And then, just as casually, he came close. Too close. He stroked the nape of my neck. He didn’t kiss me, that would be too predictable and disappointing. He just stood there, his lips inches from mine, breathing in and breathing out, until our breath was perfectly synchronized.

“Lilies” he said in a deep, soft voice.

“Bourbon” I replied.

(To be continued)

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