Pistol

Chapter Three

As the evening drew on, Steph couldn't stop the lead balloon of disappointment that dragged her mood to the floor when the bartender didn't make any further attempt to speak to her. She shamefully did what she could to instigate another interaction: passed by the bar with no real point, laughed excessively loud, even took her empty glass to the bar. Not a single thing worked. He remained deathly focussed as he served drink after drink, and flashed that oh-so-gorgeous smirk at a few women who hung around after he passed their alcohol over. Cass had her on the dance floor several times, and it had been fun. But the more she saw him enjoy his evening like their talk hadn't happened, the more she grew angry at herself for allowing his hands to caress her. She had let him damn-well seduce her. Are you that easy? She knew she wasn't, but it didn't keep the doubt from assailing her until she began to think she really was a two-dollar hooker.

"What's the matter, babe?" Cass asked. "Has a night out not been the right idea?"

Steph cringed at the thought she may have come off as ungrateful. "Not at all, hon. It's been great. I haven't thought about Dave at all, to be honest." Yeah, but let's not say why.

"Then why the sour face?"

She shrugged, unable to come up with a suitable diversion from the truth.

The executive type that had eyed Cass all night chose his moment to make a move as they downed a final drink at the table. "Would you ladies like to meet us for lunch tomorrow?"

Cass turned, and gave Steph an enormous grin. She had to admit the guy seemed genuine enough, once she got past the lame come-ons. Apparently he was a marketing exec for some office not far from theirs.

"I can come along with you if you want company," Steph ceded.

"Thanks, babe." Cass spun in her seat to face the guy. "We'd love to."

Steph sat back and let them work out details. She had no interest in lunch, and neither did the exec's friend by the bored look he had. But, she knew Cass wouldn't have gone without a chaperone, and she wasn't the type to let her friends down.

The guy exchanged numbers with Cass, and gave her a polite kiss on the cheek as the girls stood to let them out of the booth. Steph shared a forced smile with the guy's wingman, and gave Cass a tug to sit back down. The men left, and laughed between themselves. She picked up the vessel before her, and sculled the last of the water.

"Are you going to tell me the truth about why you're not happy?" Cass asked.

Steph looked up to her, the glass still on her lips as she finished her drink. "What do you mean? She feigned, and placed the glass on the table once more.

"You hung about the bar all night like you thought somebody was going to drop their winning lotto ticket."

"I did not."

Cass raised her eyebrow. "Didn't you?"

She sighed. "Fine, I did."

Blonde curls bounced over Cass's shoulder as she turned her head to look past the lines which dwindled before the bar. "He looks a bit, I dunno, rough don't you think?"

"Don't stare," Steph exclaimed, mortified. "He'll know we're talking about him." She peered from the corner of her eye to catch sight of him slip out the back. "See? You scared him away."

"For crying out loud, Steph." Cass laughed. "He's not a bloody bunny-rabbit."

She snorted, and then laughed as well. The humour they shared whenever she went out with Cass was the reason why she had accepted the invite—not that she had a choice. So what if some smoking-hot guy had made a strange pass at her; one she rather enjoyed. She was out for fun with her friend, and to remember she didn't need Dave in her life to feel complete.