He watched as the girl rummaged through her bag but could not produce anything. "Miss, I can't serve you alcohol if you don't have ID with you," the bartender rephrased.
"I have it in here somewhere," she grumbled while she continued searching for her card, her shoulders slumping in disappointment. Then she turned to the other girl he assumed to be her friend, who was dressed all in black, like a goth, complete with coke bottle glasses. "Go get Rina. I think I left my wallet in her bag," she instructed.
The friend looked reluctant to leave for a minute, but then she was off to the other side of the club, disappearing into the crowd. Now the girl was all alone, but she continued to stare at the bartender like she was on death row.
At this point, Logan couldn't help himself. Being a Lothario, he just needed to ruffle her feathers a bit and rescue her from her moment of distress. This girl needed some lifting up, and he made sure he was the first one to offer her that service.
Logan couldn't help but marvel at her long hair that shone brightly under the many colorful disco lights. She was a petite frame, perching on the stool, her legs dangling like a little kid's. My cup of tea, Logan thought. Not wanting to prolong the wait any longer, Logan inched himself closer to her, his stool now very near.
And while she was so consumed with her conversation with the bartender, he took action. "Hello, sweetheart," he whispered into her ear.
As if heaven had opened up, she turned her head and Lord helps him, but his mouth almost hung open for a full minute. It was that same girl who had made that confession to him just last week, the same girl he couldn't get out of his head.
No way could he have mistaken her. Those same pupils shone a molten black. Those same cheeks, just like that day, were scarlet, but this time it wasn't from the embarrassment over his lack of dress, but instead, they were puffed out in anger due to the argument with the bartender. This beauty sure was a sight to behold.
She was hot and heavy and, hopefully by tonight, ready for him—once he'd worked his seductive charm on her, of course. "You!" she said, her cheeks blazing under the rainbow-colored lights. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the sweetheart who confessed to me last week," he drawled out seductively. "Did you enjoy the view before you ran off like the devil was on your tail?"
* * *
This is not my scene, Evonne thought as a raging headache settled in nicely at the back of her skull. The music drummed so loud in her ears that she thought if she frequented here often enough, she was sure to have an auditory deficit by the time she reached forty.
She was so not looking forward to midnight, but here she was, in a nightclub, with midnight itself approaching faster than Lighting McQueen.