The Man at the Bar

Amanda sat alone in the middle of the bar wearing her brand new summer dress and black high heels.  She was waiting for her two closest friends to show up so they could all go dancing together.  She spent her time drinking little sips of her SoCo and Lime and distracting herself on her cell phone to avoid catching the intrigue of too many men.  Still, as pretty as she was, a few of the younger guys still found the courage to work some polished pickup line on her.  It was only 9:30 and she was already approached five times by guys who couldn’t hold their own, even in conversation with her.  She admired their courage, but that’s about it.

Amanda was in her early twenties, so most of the men in the bar noticed her when she came walking in by herself.  The few that actually did find something to say visibly drooled themselves over the blessing that they were actually given the opportunity to speak to such a beautiful girl.  But, having heard all of it before, she read through their rehearsed lines and chewed them up with some verbal sparring.  Who were these cocky milquetoasts?

When her friends arrived, they immediately grabbed a drink and all three of them jumped to the dance floor.  As the night aged, the music got louder and the bodies drew closer.  Many of those in the bar had already found their champion for trophy sex.  Some of the guys who didn’t have a partner just circled around recycling the same opener on every girl in the bar, including Amanda and her friends even though they were in a group.

As the girls danced and their bodies glistened with sweat, Amanda noticed a different kind of man at the bar.  He was just a young as her, maybe a year or two older, but something about his countenance was different than the other boys.  He sat alone in front of the bar, a white woven shirt unbuttoned at the top two buttons and the sleeves were rolled up to his forearms.  He sat back patiently in his chair, looking around coolly and calmly with controlled movements.  He was slow and nonthreatening.  And definitely more confident than the others.  He caught a glimpse of Amanda and her friends, but she immediately turned away to avoid the fact she was staring at the stranger.

When the girls’ drinks ran low, Amanda offered to head to the bar for refiills.  When she squeezed through the inconsiderate, twisting bodies, she leaned her elbows on the bar and stood expectant.  She looked to her left and saw the man in the white shirt.  He smiled at her when she noticed him, but she immediately turned away again in nervousness.

He stood up and slowly approached her.  He took the empty seat right next to her and when she saw him – only out of the corner of her eye for fear of being too direct – he greeted her with a casual, “Whaddup?”  Amanda cracked a smile at his charm.  She turned toward him.  Even though he was right next to her, he still just leaned back coolly in his chair and gave her a friendly smile.  There was something different about him.  He hadn’t offered her a drink like all the other men that approached her that night, expecting to impress her with a monetary investment.  He wasn’t hanging over her, acting loud and obnoxious, or doing anything that came across as unnatural or uncomfortable for either of them.

Before Amanda could say a word, he inspected her thoroughly from head to toe and said, “I haven’t been here long, but I can already tell a few guys have already spilled some beer all over you given the stains on your dress, but I just wanted to see what you were like.”  Amanda looked at him for a moment, his sly smile left her guessing what he was really trying to say to her.  Then, unlike the boys who were too smitten to look at her face, she noticed that he locked eyes with her.

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