Avriel Kaplan: Well dressed, well groomed, beautifully handsome, quiet and brooding and exactly the kind of man Ariel Declan doesn't need to know. But, that is not for her to decide.
Alexander Kirk: wickedly handsome, well known and well liked, egot...
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He sat at the end of her bar, quiet, handsome, and unassuming. She had seen him before sitting there with his dark hair pulled up and folded on the back of his head. The ends were long enough to touch his long neck even after being folded in half. His beard was neatly trimmed and styled. He always wore a black leather jacket over a rich-colored pressed shirt. He'd sit there nursing two fingers of whiskey most of the night just staring mostly in front of him. She had noticed him alright and against her better judgment too. If he noticed her it was not apparent. He was always there at the end of the bar, looking in his glass. He was beautifully handsome, but she had never seen his eyes. Eyes, they were her thing. Her Achilles Heel, the chink in her armor. She loved a good set of eyes. There was nothing like looking into a person's eyes and seeing what she could find behind them. She knew she shouldn't care about his eyes or what she might find in them. She knew better, but she did it anyway.
He never looked up from his glass when she was looking. A man that gorgeous, nursing two fingers of whiskey every night, sitting quietly at the end of the bar, mostly staring into his cup, had to have a million different hang-ups or one big vice. She couldn't help but wonder, had someone hurt that beautiful man? His past was just as mysterious as he was, was it dark? He was so beautiful, that the part of her that knew better just didn't really seem to be concerned. Her eyes drifted to him more than she cared, and he occupied her mind far more than she'd ever admit.
Occasionally, some daring, or desperate woman would shimmy up to the bar next to him wearing some little number that revealed her every curve and more than half her bust that she readily flaunted or shoved in his face and would strike up a conversation with him. He would smile a warm and charming smile and allow her to command his attention while he listened politely. He'd nod in all the right places, maybe open his mouth to speak once or twice, make polite eye contact with whoever spoke to him. He always wandered off, at the end of the night, holding her hand.
There seemed to be no end to the string of girls that left with him. It was never the same one twice. It appalled her. She crossed him off the list of men she was interested in. Rather she wanted to, should have, he was a customer and an apparent player. She'd probably fall victim to his games and end up just another one of his conquests, but something about him had her thoroughly intrigued.
He was usually there before her shift started so she never had to serve him. It was generally Darius or Sam that did. She wasn't sure how she'd handle hearing the sound of his voice or what to expect when looking him full in the face. She knew one day she would have to. It made her nervous to think about having to take an order from the only man in the whole of Los Angeles that could make butterflies leap to life in her stomach when she looked at him.
She had no clue why she found him so attractive. He was not her type at all. That long hair and that beard had her wanting to cut his hair and shave his face and to be able to turn her nose up at his beauty, but it didn't stop her from looking twice. There was so much she didn't want to like, not to mention his dark, almost black, hair. That wasn't something that interested her either. She liked light brown or blond hair, or at least she thought she did. Then there he was every night, sitting at the end of her bar, drawing her attention by doing nothing.
