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After about an hour, most of his group stood up
and left, leaving only
three behind, and I was glad to see that the guy was still one of the
three remaining. Why was I glad about that? I wondered about it for a
while. I think it was just physical attraction.
I kept observing the three guys, watching one of the waitresses look up
when Mr. Pastel called her over. She was only too glad to do so,
overdoing her hip movements and putting on her most seductive pout. I
wasn't the only one in the room who thought he was hot.
I frowned when she listened to him, quickly glanced in my direction, and
then reluctantly nodded. She walked back to the bar, got their order
and then, instead of taking it back to their table, the waitress came
over and set a new drink in front of me.
"Compliments of the hot blond one," she said, winking at me. Then she
bent over and he voice was low and soft. "No offense, but it's just a
damn shame. All you cute guys are either married or gay."
I uttered something like "none taken," and risked a glance at the three
men. Two were talking to each other but Mr. Pastel was looking straight
at me, lifting his bottle of beer in silent salute. I picked up my
drink and returned it, then drank almost half of it in one gulp.
To my surprise he kept his gaze at me, pretty much ignoring his
colleagues, who were in some sort of discussion. He took slow sips of
his beer, licking his lips after each sip, and sitting back, relaxed.
His other arm was loosely resting on the armrest, a hand on his leg. At
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