Smoke, Music, and Love

What's a little rose like you doing in here?" His voice was deep and baritone. My words were stuck in my throat as I inspected him further. He was in his early twenties. He had dark brown hair that was slicked back, besides the lazy strand that dangled off to the side of his face.
"Cat got your tongue flapper?" He chuckled. I gathered enough courage to glare at him and open my mouth.
"My name's Irene."
"Irene? Well lovely Irene, what are ya doing in a place like this? Y'know it's full of mobsters and gangs. You could get hurt."
I rolled my eyes and looked down at the cigarettes I had next to me. I picked one up and put it to my mouth. Fumbling with my lighter, I cursed as it continued to feebly spark.
"Lemme help ya with that princess." The man chuckled and took out his own lighter. He leaned towards my face and lit my cigarette. As I took a drag he let his calloused hands stroke from my cheek, down my jaw, to the back of my neck.
"The name's Clyde little miss Irene."