Regular Sex ~ Issue 9 ~ The One Night Stand (The Regular Sex Weekly Series ~ Raunchy coffee-break reads) Read Online Free PDF

 
    Regular Sex ~ Issue 9 ~ The One Night Stand
     
    You know those
days when your own life feels too dull and you just want to get laid by a hot
stranger? I'm having one of those days. Most times I ignore the urge and move
on, but today I'm indulging myself.
    The guy who just
walked into the bar is drop dead sexy. I'm not the only woman in the room to
notice him; two women in business dress at a table close nearby look his way
too, and the brunette waitress collecting glasses pauses to give him the once
over, and then the twice over. I don't blame her. He's not regular hot. Lots of
guys are that, but this one has that special something that turns him into an
eye magnet. You know what I mean, right? He isn't necessarily the most
classically handsome man in the room, and not usually the loudest, but he's
always the one you'd pick to take home, if you happened to be in the mood to pick
a stranger up in a bar.
    Which, as luck
would have it, I am.
    This isn't
something I do often; very rarely in fact, once a year at most. I kicked work
to the curb an hour ago and headed here to the hotel bar I always choose for
this, because it’s never packed out and rowdy but always busy enough to not
feel conspicuous drinking alone. I'm wearing black capri pants and my favourite
sheer purple blouse and skinny chiffon scarf, a classy outfit that suggests
work, or maybe dinner. I could be perched on this barstool waiting for a first
date who doesn't show, or maybe meeting a friend who just texted me to cancel.
Easy cover stories I can explain away with a wry smile and a slight shrug.
    He hasn't looked
my way yet. That's okay. It gives me time to make my assessment, to decide if
he's definitely the one. The bar is set out in a square and, for now, he's
taken a seat on the opposite side.
    I nurse my almost
done with martini, sliding the olive from its stick with my teeth as I look
over at him unobserved. He's not a suit; his tawny hair is too long and he has
the kind of tan that comes from spending days outside in the sunshine rather
than in a spray tan booth. He chats easily with the server, and then seconds
later he drinks deeply from the tall beer glass, as if his day has been every
bit as long as mine. He closes his eyes as he swallows, as if beer is his
religion and he's paying it due respect. I know that feeling well, and it reminds
me that my glass is empty.
    'Another?'
    'You read my
mind.' I smile at the wet behind the ears server. He can't be more than
eighteen or nineteen, but he mixes a decent martini and he's attentive enough
to notice when I need re-fuelling. Attention to detail is a trick most guys
should learn early; it goes a long way with a girl if he can remember how she
takes her coffee and whether she prefers Pinot or Chablis. Not that I'm
considering parking Mr.Cute Hair on the sub bench in favour of bar guy; give
him twenty years and then maybe I'll look again. I like a man who has enough
experience to know how to handle me, and my instinct tells me that my one
night-stand is sitting at the bar rather than working it.
    'Give him
another too,' I nod discreetly towards the guy as I murmur to the server when
he returns with my freshly mixed martini. For a second he looks surprised, a
slight lift of his brows, then he nods once and does as I've requested without
another word.
    I look down as
he replaces the guy’s empty glass with a full one. Eye contact at this point
would be too direct on my part. I don't want to come over as pushy, or for
everyone else in the place to know what's happening, at least not until I'm certain
how he's going to respond. A public knock-back is something I can well do
without on a Friday evening.
    For distraction
I check my phone and smile at a couple of new texts, and when I look up again he's
not on his stool anymore. Crap. Was I too obvious? Did I scare him away?
    I glance
casually around the room, trying not to blatantly search for him.
    'Thank you.'
    The voice is
right behind me, and I don't