Anton guardedly observed her tasting the drink. Needless to say he was tickled that she went back for a second sip and seemed to enjoy it enough to lick excess alcohol from her lips. He privately enjoyed the way the smoke emitted from her lips in delicate tendrils. He found himself watching her mouth the taste, the cigarette, lips curling, bending and curving in speech.
Anton glanced away and pulled the white towel from his pants pocket to wipe up the excess whiskey from the bar. He returned the towel to his back pocket and leaned his butt against the wall directly across from Isabella. The expanse of the bar and the floor leading to the back wall separated them. He folded his arms casually across his stomach, and extended his feet in front of them lazily crossing the left over the right. He was taking his time making himself comfortable. "The name's Anton. But I'm afraid I'm no knight. Knights are for rescuing little princesses from ogres like that." He gestured a thumb towards the rude patron who bothered her. "You had it right the first time, I'm no more than a miserly bar keep. And you're obviously no princess. See, no chaste sovereign-in-waiting would take a second sip of that without dignifying it with at least a little cringe." He indicated her drink emphasizing "that" with a gesticulation. It was also an invitation for her to compliment him on his concoction.
Nailed it, he thought to himself as he pulled his iPhone from his pocket to find an email from one Natalya awaiting him. He tapped the email opening it and scanning the words, trying to act disinterested was part of flirting. Besides she had pulled her phone out first, earlier.
He considered asking her some biographical questions, but decided against it, letting her stew on his commentary. He was playing a game to see how much she would prod back, how much she cared to find out about him, or how much she even cared to continue conversing with him before he volunteered any such interest. So far the expression of his interest (other than his rescue act which he had playfully excused), unbeknownst to her, was wrapped up in that one little maroon, and now water ringlet stained, napkin.
Anton glanced away and pulled the white towel from his pants pocket to wipe up the excess whiskey from the bar. He returned the towel to his back pocket and leaned his butt against the wall directly across from Isabella. The expanse of the bar and the floor leading to the back wall separated them. He folded his arms casually across his stomach, and extended his feet in front of them lazily crossing the left over the right. He was taking his time making himself comfortable. "The name's Anton. But I'm afraid I'm no knight. Knights are for rescuing little princesses from ogres like that." He gestured a thumb towards the rude patron who bothered her. "You had it right the first time, I'm no more than a miserly bar keep. And you're obviously no princess. See, no chaste sovereign-in-waiting would take a second sip of that without dignifying it with at least a little cringe." He indicated her drink emphasizing "that" with a gesticulation. It was also an invitation for her to compliment him on his concoction.
Nailed it, he thought to himself as he pulled his iPhone from his pocket to find an email from one Natalya awaiting him. He tapped the email opening it and scanning the words, trying to act disinterested was part of flirting. Besides she had pulled her phone out first, earlier.
He considered asking her some biographical questions, but decided against it, letting her stew on his commentary. He was playing a game to see how much she would prod back, how much she cared to find out about him, or how much she even cared to continue conversing with him before he volunteered any such interest. So far the expression of his interest (other than his rescue act which he had playfully excused), unbeknownst to her, was wrapped up in that one little maroon, and now water ringlet stained, napkin.
Bitch, I'm limited edition.
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