She traced the rim of her glass with a small smile, kissing her teeth.
"So, you do what for a living?"
"I work as a doctor."
She snickers under her breath as the man defensively grins, playfully slapping her wrist.
"What?" He pouts, crossing his arms, "most people are impressed by that."
"It's not that I'm not impressed," the woman collects herself and looks at the man in the eyes, "it's that I didn't expect you to be in the medical field, Dr. Michael Cohen." She holds her fingers to the sky and extends them, picturing his name on paper. They both stifle laughs as Michael turns to her.
"And what about you? What do you do for work?"
The jazz music dances in the air quietly as the man traces circles with his pointer finger on the mahogany wood in front of them. The bar is almost deserted at this point.
"I'm actually a homicide detective," she attempts to hide a smile, quickly looking over to Michael to read his expression.
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," he smiles coyly, "did you say a detective?"
"Shut up!" She laughs loudly and jabs a finger at his chest. He places a hand over his heart and chuckles.
"Miss Rosalina Collins, the detective," he extends his fingers at the sky as she had earlier, the situation almost reversed. She slapped his wrist as he had done earlier, biting her lip as her face burned with a deep crimson red. A woman tapped on his shoulder as he turned quickly, the short woman placing a hand on her hip.
"It's three. Closing time." He glances at his watch with wide eyes and looks back up at her.
"It seems I've kept you up all night," Michael leans in one last time.
"It seems you have." She grins at him, her heel lightly tracing his leg under the bar. He looks at her for a moment longer than normal, an indescribable expression in his eyes. He slides his phone across the table, the contact list open.
"Am I allowed to ask for your number now? Or is that too straightforward?" The man's voice was low and somewhat quiet. She kissed her teeth again and took the phone, rapidly tapping some numbers into it. She slid it silently back over, maintaining eye contact. He took his phone back, the corner of his mouth turned slightly as he examined it. Michael grabbed his coat quietly and spun around toward Rosalina, offering a hand.
"You're walking me out now? Such a gentleman." Rosalina takes his hand as she rises elegantly. Perhaps it had been the stunning dress she had on or her overall mannerism, but Michael couldn't help but watch her every action. He watched as she gracefully spun around again to grab her purse, surveying his entire body. Michael has been in a suit and tie, seemingly overdressed for the bar they had been at.
"Say," Michael places a finger over his lips as he pauses to think for a moment, "uh, why are you dressed so nicely at a dive bar like this?" Rosalina hesitates for a moment before she sighs.
"I... went somewhere before coming here," she whispers quietly, Michael cocking an eyebrow.
"If you don't wish to talk about it-"
"I don't." She finished abruptly, shaking her head and walking in front of him. He jogs awkwardly to catch up, peering over her shoulder.
"Miss Collins, I didn't mean to offend-"
"And you haven't. It's just very late and I'm working a case tomorrow in..," she glances at his watch, groaning as she throws her head back in agony, "two hours." He sucked in sharply through his teeth and gave a half-smile.
"That's pretty bad."
"Yeah, it is," Rosalina sighs as she quickly takes her phone out, quickly typing a few things into it before raising it to her ear.
"25th and Burr, please. Thank you."
"A taxi? I'm really sorry, Rose, I-"
"Rosalina. My friends call me Rose."
——
Michael awoke the next morning with a thumping in the back of his skull, an endless reminder that he doesn't hold his alcohol very well. The man groans and scratches his stubble for a moment before rising out of bed, groggily muttering incoherent and vulgar phrases to himself. His pager blinked violently as he glanced to his nightstand in a panic, the noise echoing across his empty halls. He quickly got dressed and brushed his teeth before dashing out of the door with a grey coat, his hand shaking as he tried to open his door before slamming it forcefully.
I should remind you that Michael was in no way sober. He was beginning to be hungover, but with the little time he had to recoup, he was most definitely tipsy at the very least. Though he ignored this fact, shoving his keys aggressively into the ignition as he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, driving away.
