Is Europa, of course.
She walked into the bar wearing denim shorts so short, that at every step, the men who inevitably turned to look at her legs, could see a tiny bit of ass cheek.
She sat on a bar stool next to me. I ignored her. She probably wanted me to buy her a drink.
I glanced around to see that she was staring at me. I gifted her a smile and took the drinks back to my friends.
Half an hour later, we finished our drinks and got up to leave. She was still sitting on the stool; some man with downcast eyes was walking away from her.
She caught my eye again.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“Drinking by yourself is a slippery slope to alcoholism.”
“So drink with me, then.”
I smiled. “I’m leaving.”
She cocked her head and pouted her lips. “Nice try,” I say.
“I’ll be here again tomorrow,” she said.
With a come-on like that, what man wouldn’t crawl back to the bar the next day, only to be humiliated and probably ignored by her?
“I won’t be,” I said, and I gave the name of a bar where I would be. “It’s a corporate event. Wear something appropriate.”
She turned up at the ‘event’, wearing a tight black dress that was short, but covered more thigh than the shorts of the previous day. She was on the arm of a man standing a full head taller than her. He had dark combed-back hair, a white open-neck shirt revealing a forest of black chest-chair, and charcoal gray trousers.
“I came,” she said to me.
Her escort was sent for drinks. She squeezed my hand. I lead her to the cloak-room.