First line prompt #2

“It would only be a fling – she wasn’t about to break up the happy home…”

It would only be a fling – she wasn’t about to break up the happy home. She knew exactly what she was getting herself into when she noticed his ring, hand wrapped around a beer bottle. She was bored; her friends left her sitting at the bar all alone. They told her to come out then bailed due to work early in the morning. Besides, she needed some entertainment. And he was entertaining her back. His grey lumberjack beard made her fantasize about pulling it in a dark alleyway as they made out. He seemed way out of her league. Dressed like a GQ model, he couldn’t be someone’s dad and/or husband. He had a level of sophistication about him…like a CEO or owner of a kickstart that soared within a couple of weeks. Maybe it was just the three piece, slim cut tailored suit he wore. She admired him as he took a swig from the Shiner bottle, little drops of beer still about his lips. She licked her own in anticipation. She knew going to a lounge in town would get her more sophisticated men, some that could be in shit marriages or just recently divorced. Or her favorite: the husbands who have permission to go outside of their marriage. She figured with her new found age, she needed a new group of men to be interested in.

“How old are you anyway?” A quizzitive brow asked her.

“How old do you think I am?” She usually hates such a dumb and corny line but again, she was bored. He smirked either in humor or annoyance.

“Don’t you hate when people respond with that question?”

She scoffs out of slight embarrassment, “Of course. I was just being funny,” she swirls the ice around in her empty glass, “I’m thirty. A fresh thirty years…like my birthday was last week. Celebrating a little later than I wanted.”

“How come?” Beer bottle back at his lips.

“Didn’t want to turn thirty. I was living in a state of denial.” She shrugs, remembering her day of tears and loneliness. Her friends and family were begging her to escape her apartment, that turning thirty wasn’t the beginning of the end but in her mind, it was the worst.

“Well how old do you think I am? You may be surprised.”

She was starting to love that silly grin about his mouth the more they talked. Is it wrong I want you to be thirty and single like me? She thought to herself. She giggled.

“How old do I go before you feel insulted?”

“Your cut off is fifty…but only because I often get mistaken for fifty. Apparently grey hair ages you.”

“Ah I see. Well if I have to guess…under fifty…I’ll say you’re…thirty-six…?” She studies him over once more, considering his skin, the lines around his eyes, his hands that laid on the bar.

“Hmm…pretty close.”

“Higher?”

“Just a smidgen.”

“Okay. Thirty-niiiiine-ish?”

It really doesn’t matter. She’s ok with the end game no matter his age. She was going to ride him til the wheels fall off then leave him with a drunken memory. She was imagining him undressing slowly, showing her that he still had it. That his careless wife at home wasn’t going to appreciate him like this. That she doesn’t like to watch him get undress. That she doesn’t like that once he’s down to his boxer briefs he grabs her tightly by the wrists before shoving his tongue inbetween her lips.

“Bingo.” He points to the bartender and orders another Shiner. “Does that bother you?”

“Thirty-nine? No, no…why the grey beard?”

“I’ve been greying since I was twenty-three. It’s a natural thing. I’m salt and pepper up here,” he points to his perfectly sculpted hair that’s been gelled back, “and here,” points to her future pull toy, “but won’t lie I dye the beard. I tried it once just to see what it would look like and fell in love with it. It gives me a…sort of look.”

So he knows what he’s doing. It’s not necessarily a ploy or gimmick…he just knows it can get him what he wants on occasion. He knows women will stare and wonder and the intrigue will pull them in. It made her wonder how many times has he done this. How many times has he returned late to his home. His wife is an idiot.

“Would you like another gin and tonic?” He points over to the bartender again. Why not, she thinks, I can’t wait to tug on that beard while you pound me.  

“Yeah that’s fine. Thank you. Well now that we know how old each other are, where are we doing this? Hotel? My place?”

He choked on the abbrasivness of her question. “Get to the point don’t we?” He takes the napkin is bottle was resting on to cover his coughs.

“Just want to be sure we’re on the same page here. You caught my interest when you sauntered in, tailored and tall, knowing every woman in the room was breaking their necks to see you. And once my friends all dispersed, I saw you point me out by shyly looking over your shoulder towards me. You knew you were about to break every lady’s heart once I sat next to you here. You had just as much as a plan as I did tonight. Fate? I don’t know…maybe I just got lucky. So answer the question: my place or not?”

Around 3:36 a.m., she was awoken to him trying to slip out of her bed. With her being a light sleeper, it was impossible for her one night stands to leave without waking her. If she liked them, she would offer a late night/early morning breakfast at a diner she likes to go to. If not, she would watch them get dress and leave, locking the door once they were out on the street or in their car. But this guy, she liked. And the sex was just like she imagined while they spoke at the bar. It was just what she needed to usher in thirty. He put every piece of the suit back on. Not one wrinkle or piece of out of place as he looked himself over in the mirror. He reaches in his coat pocket for a small container of beard balm. He strokes it over the grey hairs, looks over at her in the mirror and with that goofy grin of his, tugs on it. She laughs.

“Would you like a late dinner? Or early breakfast? Whichever.”

Slipping on his coat he says, “I wish I could but I’m avoiding a ‘Where are you?’ phone call. Thanks for offering. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s part of my system. I liked you. The ones I like I take them out for breakfast.”

“Don’t cook?”

“No…too intimate.”

They laugh as he walks to her side of the bed. “Thanks for the fun. If you find any loose grey hairs about you know why.” He kisses her slowly. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

She shrugs. “You never know. I may be in another crowded bar of women begging for your attention.”

“And I may pick you again. You never know.”