Blaine sat on an empty barstool between a likely prospect and King-fucking-Kong. He lifted his chin, summoning the bartender as he ran freshly manicured hands over the textured cashmere of his Kiton pinstripe suit, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.
“A Skinny Pirate, please.”
The bartender quirked an eyebrow but otherwise kept his face expressionless. “Coming right up.”
Blaine’s peripheral vision picked up movement to his left. King Kong was looking him over. He turned his head to the right, ignoring the hairy behemoth, to check out his hopeful hookup for the evening.
Maybe a couple inches taller than himself, the man was casually dressed in freshly pressed khakis and a clean navy polo shirt. His dark wavy hair was neatly trimmed, and his hands, while not professionally manicured, were well maintained.
The man concentrated on a Screwdriver, studiously ignoring him, though.
The bartender placed the drink in front of Blaine, and he slapped some bills on the bar.
“Why’s that called a ‘Skinny Pirate’? Looks like rum and Coke to me.”
Blaine sighed and turned to the muscle-bound hulk. “Because it’s made with Captain Morgan rum and Diet Coke.”
He picked up his drink and spun on the stool to cast his gaze over the room. No prospects. No singles, anyway. The patrons all appeared to be in couples.
King Kong turned on his seat and brought a domestic longneck to his lips. The man was big and hairy—except for his bald head—but basically clean, albeit slightly rumpled, in jeans and a snug T-shirt. Minute traces of grease stained his cuticles, and his beard could use a trim. A gold hoop glinted on his right ear lobe.
“Not much hope out there. I’ve already scoped the place.”
Blaine glanced at the guy on his other side. Maybe there was still a chance.
“Preppy there’s got someone who’s going to be joining him.” King Kong shrugged. “I already tried.”
Blaine heaved another sigh and took a more thoughtful look at King Kong. How bad did he really want to get laid tonight?
King Kong grinned. “Feelin’ desperate, are ya?”
Maybe not that bad. Fucker.
King Kong actually waggled his eyebrows. “I showered and everything.”
Blaine crossed his arms, and his jaw tightened. The man was laughing at him. Sure, he was picky, but he had a right to be, goddammit. He sucked in a deep breath and slowly blew it out, then took a sip of his Skinny Pirate. “What’s your name? Or should I just call you ‘King Kong’?”
The man’s laughter reached his eyes. “That depends. You wanna be my Ann Darrow?”
© 2009 Addison Albright
© 2017 Addison Albright