Only you | Derek Morgan

Vodka cranberry, please

L A Y L A ' S   P O V

One thing I love about living in big cities is that you can practically get anything you need at anytime of the day.

Since there's a high likelihood I'll never see my suitcase and it's contents again, I ventured out of my new apartment in search of a new phone charger, toothbrush and face wash from the store.

Conveniently, I spot a bar on my walk home. I think it's time for that drink now. One won't hurt, right?

I push open the door, eyes quickly scanning the room. There's a couple people in the booth's but other than that, it's pretty much empty. Exactly what you would expect for a Sunday night.

Sitting up on a stool at the bar, I smile at the bartender. "Vodka cranberry, please."

You would probably think I'm an alcoholic with how much I talk about it, but I actually rarely ever drink so sitting in a bar alone is definitely quite a strange feeling for me.

Sipping on my sweet drink slowly, the sound of the scape of a bar stool beside me pulls me from my thoughts, and a deep voice says, "I'll take a whiskey neat, please."

I look over at who just joined me and...fuck me he's hot.

The dark skinned man leans his forearms against the bar, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. My eyes travel a path from his hands, up the muscles of his arms to the top two buttons of his shirt that are unfastened. A nice smelling cologne is my weakness and of course he's wearing the nicest one I've ever smelled.

Usually, being bald doesn't suit many men, but I have to say, he makes it work. Very well at that. My eyes land on the stubble across his jaw and my only thought is that I want it to scratch my inner thighs when he's— reel it in, Layla.

I suppose this is a good time to test out my profiling skills. From the first glance, you can clearly tell he's buff and definitely has a six, if not eight pack underneath that shirt. My guess is that one of his biggest hobbies is working out. Even by the way he's carrying himself and leaning into the bar you can tell he's bold, confident and is probably a huge ladies man that can flirt with ease.

His lips slightly curve up into a smirk when he notices me staring at him and he gestures to the drink in my hand. "Bad day?"

One point for me. He's definitely a huge flirt because that is one of the most typical pick up lines for someone drinking alone. This is straight out of any movie that has a bar scene.

"Good day," I smile back at him, taking a sip from my drink. "But long."

My new apartment is perfect and I'm excited about starting my new job tomorrow but I've been on the go for probably about eighteen hours at this point and I'm going to crash soon.

"How about you?" I ask, gesturing to his glass of whiskey. "Bad night?"

His brown eyes scan across my face before one side of his mouth quirks up into a smirk. "It's looking pretty good right now."

Have we established that he's bold and very flirty already? because boy was I right about that one.

"Why are you drinking alone?" I clarify with a teasing smile, flickering my eyes towards the clock on the wall. "At nine thirty on a Sunday night?"