You sat perched on the bar stool, finger tracing the rim of the empty tumbler that minutes ago had held your club soda with lime. It was partially full of ice now. You let out a harsh exhale. This night had not been all you'd hope it would be.
Your "in" to this swanky hotel cocktail party had abandoned you to slip into a bedroom with an up and coming screenwriter for a heated make out session or more. With the only person you knew here unavailable, you felt invisible and at the same time obviously out of place. You had no place here with these movie people. You're not even sure how she had convinced you to come here.
You sighed again heavily.
Maybe it was time to start drinking.
You signaled the bartender and ordered the strongest drink you could handle.
If you couldn't hook up with an up and coming whomever, you rationalized, you could at least take advantage of the free liquor.
"That's a serious drink," a voice came from your side, and you swiveled to see who spoke to you.
Your eyes met a man's chest, clothed in a white dress shirt and dark suit.
Your gaze traveled up the line of buttons to his open collar and long trim neck. His face seemed kind, his smile genuine. But there was something about his eyes that made your breath hitch in your chest.
You smiled and tried to play off your sudden uneasiness with a joke, "Well, I've got a serious problem."
"Really?" he replied, "Perhaps I can be of assistance. I am excellent at solving problems. May I join you?"
You gestured toward the empty bar stool. "Of course."
He took the empty seat, still seeming to tower over you from the seated position. He sat with his thighs wide, and with you facing him, you were acutely aware of the fact you were sitting between his legs. The thought made you flush slightly, or maybe it was the strong alcohol.
"What are you drinking, love?" He asked.
You told him and he motioned to the bartender that he would have a drink identical to yours.
He leaned forward, his finger tracing the stubble on his chin.
You couldn't help but track that movement with your eyes.
"So..." he said.
"So." you answered lamely.
"Your problem." he prompted.
"Yes." you tried to focus, but you felt enveloped by his closeness, your small body seated between his long legs. You could smell his cologne and as it wafted around you your head buzzed. You couldn't tell if you were getting drunk of this potent beverage or this delicious man. "My problem. I came here tonight with a friend who's in the industry. Now she's off in a private room screwing some guy and I'm here feeling invisible. I don't know anyone else here."
"I'm Tom Hiddleston." he said abruptly, extending his hand.
You took it and he gave you a firm handshake. You looked at him, confused.
"Now you know someone here. Someone not off screwing in a private room. At this point in time, anyway," he gave you a little wink.
You smiled and giggled. Was he flirting with you?
"Darling," he said, taking a hearty gulp of his drink and wincing slightly, "I can tell you one thing, you are most definitely not invisible."
You laughed. "That's easy for you to say. You're head and shoulders above most people here."
