Re: At the Bar
Oh, he was handsome, sitting there all prim and proper, sipping a glass of water. He was tailored and well put-together but Saint could tell from twenty paces as she slunk into the bar that he was hardly the type who had picked it out himself. More like he'd seen it coordinated in a catalog or someone else had shown him how the items went together; there was nothing inherently wrong with it at all, he looked very nice, but he had a sense of awkwardness, of otherworldly discomfort like he'd rather be almost anywhere else.
The other women were perhaps going to make their own plays, but Saint was far from coy and she had no interest in playing shy. Rather, he was the fuzzy little catnip mouse and she had just sharpened her claws. She hadn't been back at the Door long enough to be jaded yet.
She moved toward the bar when Eli singled him out for the women, the low heels clicking a bit on the floor. Sinuous and graceful, ethereal, the white-blonde hair tumbling across creamy collarbones and the tasteful black shirt. The secretary-like ensemble, all designer of course, looked stunning on that sleek androgynous body and in Saint's mind, there'd be no competition. If one of the others engaged him more than she did, she'd take it out in a particularly grueling session with Dahlia later until her ego was restored.
"Are you Mr. York?" she purred as she moved to a section of the bar about four feet to his left, gazing at him with those crystalline green eyes.