LEGS APART | Mileven.

02.THE BARTENDER.

No one would believe the bad day Mike Wheeler had just had.

He rolled his eyes before stepping out of the warmth the New York subway offered. The man was contemplating whether to satisfy his clouded mind with a drink or two at the local bar.

The coldness of the October night wrapped around his throat and sent a shiver down his spine, it seemed as though he was the greatest prisoner of an arid and cold warehouse, stuck behind it's bars and manipulative whistles of the wind.

The briefcase he held in his cold grip, filled with excessive documents, weighed him down: like his constant loitering heart.

And only then did the man decide, he desperately needed that drink.

Instead of walking his normal route home, the man took a detour upon a street, that soon filled his ears with a heavy melodic bass.

The smirk on his lips glew brightly as the neon lights that ironically read, "Neon nights," outlined them.

The bouncer that stood at the door had simply nodded his head in the direction of the man.

He after all, was benevolent in this sector of the city.

The room he entered, held the strong stench of rums and spirits and all curious eyes twinkled as they landed upon the gentleman of such high standard.

Women who owned thick and seductive figures fixed their hair and lowered their tops in a provocative manner, whilst men watched his every move, just hoping to be his figurative descent.

Mike made his way toward the bar stool he had grown to know so well and rested his briefcase on the empty seat abreast him.

At the bar, he caught glimpse of the back of a head with intricate honey locks, that trickled downward like a cascade of water. It's dense volume bounced against the pair of dainty shoulders the young woman owned.

He wondered how he had not seen her before.

A guilty smirk spread amongst the man's face and his troubled voice, simply seeking leverage, left his lips. "Excuse me love ?"

The beautiful bartender whipped her head back toward the counter, having heard the husky voice that somehow, melodically filled the air.

Her red uniform fell low upon her chest, and her curves really seemed divine in such a colour.

She responded, a radiant smile igniting amongst her heavenly features, "Yes sir ?"

"Would you be so kind as to get me a Whiskey." He flashed his perfectly pearly teeth, looked down toward the angel's name badge, then finished his sentence, "Hard on the rocks please...Miss El."

The girl blushed, her cheeks heating to a dangerous temperature, accompanied by a deep crimson shade. It was not often that the customers she served treated her with such intricate respect. "Of course sir."

Quickly, the woman completed the job she had been paid to do, and was handing the man, with luscious rambunctious curls and fine obsidian eyes his desired drink.

As Mike took the drink, their fingers brushed, they electrified each other's bodies in that minuscule millisecond and their hearts pumped wildly at the unrecognisable pace. Their eyes locked almost passionately, yet soon diverted.