So when I entered the lounge, I noticed that you couldn't see me come in. As a bit of a prank, I flagged the waitress down and had her send you a drink from me as I sat in the corner booth right behind you, about seven feet away. You were surprised, and looked around for your benefactor. Your happy looks made it clear you were both thankful, and in on it. You said something to the bartender, and left briefly. You glanced over at me when you returned with a conspiratorial look and an all-but-undetectable sly wink.
We watched the news on the TV over the bar, without really watching it. I studied your face in the bar mirror while appreciating your curves from behind. You occasionally glanced in the mirror at me as you casually finished your drink. I sent you another, and gave the waitress the nod to say from whence it came. You turned slowly on your swivel bar chair and looked over the rim of your glass as you held my gaze. Then you put your glass on the edge of the bar and did something I have never seen you do.
You uncrossed your legs, and re-crossed them. And I knew why you had made the little trip. Game on, Sharon Stone.
You thanked me for your drink and we exchanged a few pleasantries. Cool, but flirtatious. Hot, yet publicly acceptable. You turned back to the television and we waited the decent interval . I could practically hear the clock tick.
It was time. You thanked the bartender, cleared your check and came to your feet. I took a sip of my drink and smiled. Three short steps over to me. Your clutch purse opened. Then you slipped your room key into my jacket pocket, bent down and whispered your room number into my ear. Asked me to give you a five minute head start.
I gave you 4 minutes.