Between The Lines

Chapter 7

Dedicated to countrygirl50.  Thank you for your comments on the last chapter and thank you for the support! :)

This chapter took longer to write because my old laptop conked out and my new laptop has no Word installed!  I only discovered this week there was such a thing as Google Docs.  But here we go! 

We didn't quite reach the goals on the last chapter. (Sad face.)  It would be lovely to here from some of you lovely silent readers!  Feedback encourages me to update quicker.  Even a vote is encouraging! :)

GOALS:

100 Reads

20 Votes

10 Comments

Enjoy!

The man was a good foot taller than me, lean and handsome and incredibly scruffy.  He wore jeans which were riddled with holes and tears, paired with a navy tank top which had a light stain on the chest and was clumsily half tucked in.  As he turned his head to the side, looking me up and down with his blue eyes, which were disconcertingly alert, I had a decent view of his hair, which was dark brown.  The top was an inch or so long and unruly but the lower half had been cropped close to his head so that it looked almost identical to his short facial hair.

“You ordered a stripper?”  A high male voice yelled back, sounding confused.  A moment later, a second man with the exact same hairstyle (although blond) stumbled into view, gasping as though he’d sprinted to the door in excitement.  He placed a large elbow on the first man’s shoulder, leaning into him and raking his eyes over my outfit.  His mouth broke into a toothy grin and he gave me a sleazy wink.  In fact, it would have been a smooth entrance if it wasn’t for a large wobble from his friend that almost sent the two of them toppling backwards.  It quickly became apparent that the pair were very drunk.

Besides the hairstyle, the two men shared almost nothing in common.  The first was tall and muscular whereas the second was short and stout; in fact, he was teetering on tiptoes in order to keep his elbow on the other guy’s shoulder.  In contrast to the first man’s casual (albeit messy) outfit, the short one was wearing a bright red dragon onesie with a large fluffy head, the sleeves of which he had had to roll up to free his hands.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” he demanded, so betrayed that he raised an unsteady finger in accusation and prodded his friend hard in the centre of the chest, "you’d ordered a stripper?”

“I didn’t.”

The two proceeded to argue until with each ‘“You did.”  “I didn’t.”’ they were shoving the other in the chest so that their backs collided against the wall with a loud bang.

“You so di-”

“I’m not.  I’m not a stripper!”  The couple were so absorbed in their argument that I had to yell at the top of my voice to get their attention, and boy, I’d never seen anyone look so entirely bummed out.

The first man froze mid-push, squeezing his eyes shut and slowly placing a tight fist against his forehead as though the world was spinning before his eyes.  “She’s not a fucking stripper,” he mumbled dejectedly.  “She’s not a stripper, you imbecile.”  Meanwhile, the man in the dragon costume was wearing such a devastated expression I almost feared that he was going to fall to the floor and cry.

“I’m just looking for Zacharias,” I tried to explain.

An agonised scream pierced the air.  “She’s just looking for fucking Zacharias!”