Five
587 Words
Manon
This guy will not give up, will he?
“C'mon baby girl,” He smirked, “Come home with me.”
I wiggle away from him. “No thank you,” I decline for the 43rd time tonight. “I'm okay.”
“I know you like me,” He insisted.
At this point I'm about to call security. This is ridiculous. How did I let Terry talk me into this?
“Sir,” A man with an accent in a suit calls to the guy who's been harassing me all night.
He frowns. “Who are you?”
The man cleared his throat. “We have some business together. If you'd take a walk with me—”
“I don't got no business with—”
“Your boss wants to see you,” The suited man emphatically states. That makes the creep stop his sentence.
“Fine." he turns to me. “Later gorgeous.”
I give him a disgusted look saying nothing. With that, he leaves with suited man, who is either so big I can see his hard on through his suit, or is carrying a gun.
Honestly, either one of those options are feasible.
Speaking of which...a strong body pressed up against me. He was faces and the bar while I was facing away from thee bar.
“Ah, Manon, how lovely to here.”
I look up, my eye catching his. Niccoló's.
“Is it just me, or are you happy to see me?” I ask dryly.
He grins, his pearly whites on display. “It's my gun.”
Color drained from my face. “No chance you're a police officer is it?”
He shook his head emphatically.
“No, but would you feel better if I told you I had a permit?”
“I'd feel better if you showed me your permit.”
Again, he grinned at me, taking out his wallet. He fished a card out and showed it to me.
Huh, well what do you know? He has a permit for a concealed carry.
Doesn't exactly feel me with the upmost confidence, but it does help a bit.
“Feel better, pulchino?”
“Not really,” I answer honestly, “But I do appreciate the effort."
He motions for the bartender to get him a drink.
“What are doing in a place like this, with a dress like that, pulchino?”
I glare at him indignantly. “What's that suppose to mean?”
He shrugs, picking up his drink. “You seem like the type of girl who wears sweatshirts, and reads quietly for fun. It's obvious you don't own that dress, because you keep uncomfortably pulling down. You also don't seem like the type to pay for a dress you don't like.”
He looks back at me. “But I could be wrong. What do I know?”
He's... exactly right. He winks at me, making me look away.
“No, you're right. This isn't really my scene.”
“If it isn't your scene, I would choose another one.” He sets down his drink and a twenty dollar bill.
“I'll see you around pulchino.”
And with that he leaves. So I'm dumbfounded, sitting there going over what the hell just happened.
“Can I get a Coke?”
I pull out my card to pay, but the bartender puts out his hand to stop me. “It's paid for.”
I don't even have to ask who.
- Writer
