In the Air by Crystal Serowka Page A
Authors: Crystal Serowka
Tags: Contemporary, General Fiction
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laid eyes on me two years ago.
"I started school a few days ago. It's crushing my soul." As usual, the bar was packed, and I grabbed one of the last stools near the end of the bar. "I need a shot."
I started coming to this bar when I was sixteen. Young, I know, but I had a lot of older friends.
The first time I showed my fake ID to Brian, the doorman, he looked at me and started laughing. "This is obviously fake, but since you're hot and will probably attract some customers, I'll let you in. Don't make me regret this."
My beautiful relationship with the bar grew from that day forward.
"Jameson?" Brad held up my favorite brand of whiskey. When it came to liquor, he knew exactly what I liked.
It was only 11 P.M., but the bar was packed from wall to wall. After my third shot, my soul reappeared. With liquor in my system and the high I got from the music blaring from the speakers, the day's stress vanished quickly.
"Hey, pretty thing. Can I have your name?" A voice asked from behind. I could already tell by his lame pick-up line that he wasn't going to be a looker. I turned in my barstool and saw that I was right.
"Why? Don't you have your own?" I asked, annoyed. I started to turn back around, but he grabbed my arm.
"Sassy and beautiful. Where have you been all my life?" With the way this man was slurring his speech. I hoped Brad had already cut him off.
"Hiding from you." My eyes stared icily into his. "If you don't let go of my arm, I will remove it. For good." I angled my eyebrow up at him, daring him.
His grey eyes glossed over as he looked at me scornfully. "Well, aren't you a rude young lady?"
"If I throw a stick, will you leave?" With my question, the sorry bastard accepted defeat and walked away with his tail between his legs.
"Nice way to deal with an asshole. Maybe you should write a book."
The voice was gorgeous. I detected an accent, but couldn't pinpoint it. I turned to my left and saw a guy, leaning against the bar. His hair was dark, almost black, neatly styled, reminding me of the 50's. He had tattoos peeking out from under his shirt. I was practically salivating.
"Maybe I should. Only if you promise to buy the first copy." Biting my lip seductively, I waited for him to look up at me. When he finally did, his eyes were dark and mysterious.
"Would you autograph it for me? Write a special note inside?" His smile widened when he took me in. His eyes traveled up my legs, over my chest, and finally onto my lips. When our eyes locked for the second time, a tremor ran through me. I wish there was a fan nearby. I need to cool myself off.
"Anything you want." I licked my lips slowly, which attracted his gaze.
He held out his hand to me and I noticed the tattoos across his fingers spelling out love. He's sexy and romantic? What have I done to deserve this?
"My name is Wren. Can I get yours, pretty thing?" He laughed lightly, mocking the asshole that had just hit on me.
"Beauty and wit. This must be my lucky day." I shook his hand and the attraction flared. "My name is Kingsley." Without letting go, he lightly stroked the inside of my wrist with his thumb. "I noticed your accent, Wren. Where are you from?"
He dropped my hand and picked up his drink to take a sip. I was already feverish from this man, but the way he licked his lips after taking a sip was going to give me heatstroke.
"I'm from South Africa but have lived in the States for five years. I'm a student at NYU. What about you, Kingsley?" He slid the barstool closer to mine. His hand found my wrist again and began lightly stroking the inside of it. "What's your story?"
His knees hit against mine and I had to stop myself from caressing his thigh. This man was so gorgeous it would take zero effort for him to get into any girl's pants. If he asked me to get naked right in the middle of the bar, I would have happily obliged.
"How about a drink first?" I motioned for Brad and ordered two shots of Jameson. When they arrived, Wren's hand left my skin,
"I started school a few days ago. It's crushing my soul." As usual, the bar was packed, and I grabbed one of the last stools near the end of the bar. "I need a shot."
I started coming to this bar when I was sixteen. Young, I know, but I had a lot of older friends.
The first time I showed my fake ID to Brian, the doorman, he looked at me and started laughing. "This is obviously fake, but since you're hot and will probably attract some customers, I'll let you in. Don't make me regret this."
My beautiful relationship with the bar grew from that day forward.
"Jameson?" Brad held up my favorite brand of whiskey. When it came to liquor, he knew exactly what I liked.
It was only 11 P.M., but the bar was packed from wall to wall. After my third shot, my soul reappeared. With liquor in my system and the high I got from the music blaring from the speakers, the day's stress vanished quickly.
"Hey, pretty thing. Can I have your name?" A voice asked from behind. I could already tell by his lame pick-up line that he wasn't going to be a looker. I turned in my barstool and saw that I was right.
"Why? Don't you have your own?" I asked, annoyed. I started to turn back around, but he grabbed my arm.
"Sassy and beautiful. Where have you been all my life?" With the way this man was slurring his speech. I hoped Brad had already cut him off.
"Hiding from you." My eyes stared icily into his. "If you don't let go of my arm, I will remove it. For good." I angled my eyebrow up at him, daring him.
His grey eyes glossed over as he looked at me scornfully. "Well, aren't you a rude young lady?"
"If I throw a stick, will you leave?" With my question, the sorry bastard accepted defeat and walked away with his tail between his legs.
"Nice way to deal with an asshole. Maybe you should write a book."
The voice was gorgeous. I detected an accent, but couldn't pinpoint it. I turned to my left and saw a guy, leaning against the bar. His hair was dark, almost black, neatly styled, reminding me of the 50's. He had tattoos peeking out from under his shirt. I was practically salivating.
"Maybe I should. Only if you promise to buy the first copy." Biting my lip seductively, I waited for him to look up at me. When he finally did, his eyes were dark and mysterious.
"Would you autograph it for me? Write a special note inside?" His smile widened when he took me in. His eyes traveled up my legs, over my chest, and finally onto my lips. When our eyes locked for the second time, a tremor ran through me. I wish there was a fan nearby. I need to cool myself off.
"Anything you want." I licked my lips slowly, which attracted his gaze.
He held out his hand to me and I noticed the tattoos across his fingers spelling out love. He's sexy and romantic? What have I done to deserve this?
"My name is Wren. Can I get yours, pretty thing?" He laughed lightly, mocking the asshole that had just hit on me.
"Beauty and wit. This must be my lucky day." I shook his hand and the attraction flared. "My name is Kingsley." Without letting go, he lightly stroked the inside of my wrist with his thumb. "I noticed your accent, Wren. Where are you from?"
He dropped my hand and picked up his drink to take a sip. I was already feverish from this man, but the way he licked his lips after taking a sip was going to give me heatstroke.
"I'm from South Africa but have lived in the States for five years. I'm a student at NYU. What about you, Kingsley?" He slid the barstool closer to mine. His hand found my wrist again and began lightly stroking the inside of it. "What's your story?"
His knees hit against mine and I had to stop myself from caressing his thigh. This man was so gorgeous it would take zero effort for him to get into any girl's pants. If he asked me to get naked right in the middle of the bar, I would have happily obliged.
"How about a drink first?" I motioned for Brad and ordered two shots of Jameson. When they arrived, Wren's hand left my skin,
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