Anton was graciously accepting a tip from a post-menopausal woman who was clearly buzzed and making the slide into intoxication. She pushed a whole five dollar bill over the bar in a manner one would assume was suggestive given her lascivious grin and the way she leaned into the bar. Anton grinned crookedly, giving the woman an acquiescent nod, and a quick word of thanks.
His charming asymmetric grin remained on his face as he observed the newest patron approaching the bar. The crisp corporate attire adorning the woman starkly contrasted with his own. Anton wore a blue, white, and grey plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and tight black jeans. Aside from his black rimmed glasses, the only accessory he wore, if that, was a white towel was hanging from his left back pocket. He sauntered over to stand in front of her as she settled into her seat. Since she ordered without prompting, Anton picked up her ID and examined it with a show of care. He was really just admiring the photograph and admittedly trying to memorize her street address. He glanced from her picture to her face, "Right away, Isabella." His favorite trick with attractive female patrons was to pick up their name from an ID or credit card and use it casually. It couldn't hurt.
As Anton turned away to prepare the drink, a middle-aged balding man approached the bar. He had been tracking Isabella with his eyes and decided to chance it with her. The gentleman came right up into Isabella's space, slipping his arm around the back of her chair, he leaned his hip against the bar and slurred, "Whaddya drinkin' sweet heart?" Once close one would notice the man was sweating profusely through his wrinkled too-many-times washed faded green polo which was tucked into ill fitting pleated khaki pants. He even dared to move his hand to her back running his hand from the back of her right shoulder to the left. He may have also leaned in to smell her hair, but he could have also just been breathing abnormally close to her. Anton had just grabbed the shaker when he heard the man. He glanced over his shoulder deciding to observe the exchange for a minute, just for fun, before he went in for the heroic rescue.
His charming asymmetric grin remained on his face as he observed the newest patron approaching the bar. The crisp corporate attire adorning the woman starkly contrasted with his own. Anton wore a blue, white, and grey plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and tight black jeans. Aside from his black rimmed glasses, the only accessory he wore, if that, was a white towel was hanging from his left back pocket. He sauntered over to stand in front of her as she settled into her seat. Since she ordered without prompting, Anton picked up her ID and examined it with a show of care. He was really just admiring the photograph and admittedly trying to memorize her street address. He glanced from her picture to her face, "Right away, Isabella." His favorite trick with attractive female patrons was to pick up their name from an ID or credit card and use it casually. It couldn't hurt.
As Anton turned away to prepare the drink, a middle-aged balding man approached the bar. He had been tracking Isabella with his eyes and decided to chance it with her. The gentleman came right up into Isabella's space, slipping his arm around the back of her chair, he leaned his hip against the bar and slurred, "Whaddya drinkin' sweet heart?" Once close one would notice the man was sweating profusely through his wrinkled too-many-times washed faded green polo which was tucked into ill fitting pleated khaki pants. He even dared to move his hand to her back running his hand from the back of her right shoulder to the left. He may have also leaned in to smell her hair, but he could have also just been breathing abnormally close to her. Anton had just grabbed the shaker when he heard the man. He glanced over his shoulder deciding to observe the exchange for a minute, just for fun, before he went in for the heroic rescue.
Bitch, I'm limited edition.
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