He sauntered past me and left his card on the bar.
I love that.
Who does that anymore?
The paper resembled the finest linen.
The text was embossed.
Seems he’s a barrister.
With a double barrelled-surname.
Which, let’s face it, is up there with a trust fund as a guaranteed turn on.
If you're a social climbing snob.
Which, let's be clear, I am.
And it looked like he was gonna leave.
So I skulled my beverage and headed him off at the pass: “You can’t just dump your card and piss off,” I say.
“I beg your pardon,” he replies.
I tell him I’m very flattered by the leaving of the card but less flattered by the departure of the cardholder.
“I thought you may like to call me some time,” he says.
“I’m calling you right now,” I counter.
He raises an eyebrow.
“Let me buy you a drink,” I offer.
“Louis Roderer,” he gratefully replies.
Thank God for credit, I say to myself.
“Crystal,” he adds.
Seriously hope I’m not maxed out.
Again keep this thought to myself.
He turned out to be not only handsome, evenly tanned, perfectly teethed and impeccably attired, but also devastatingly witty and charming.
He was also quite sober.
So I did most of the talking.
But he was quite attentive.
And apparently sincerely so.
Asked me all sorts of questions about my work, education, friends, family, pastimes and holidays.
Impressed by my knowledge of the law.
Kind of intrigued by the fact that I live in a one bedroom apartment.
Impressed that I'm a decorator.
Although somewhat concerned by my casual attire.
Decided not to tell him that I do own some fancy clothes too, but felt them a bit much for a Monday night.
And kept my investment property to myself too.
He should like me and my poverty.
Seems he did.
Although poverty not so evident once clothes were removed.
Which of course did not happen at The Establishment.
@handsome_barrister had little difficulty in presenting his case for dragging me back to his place.
In quite a sudden manner he retrieved his keys and wallet from the bar in a confident and manly sweep.
Gestured towards the door in a fashion that gave me no alternative but to leave. He said nothing as we walked towards his car.
Top of the line BMW.
Brand spanking new.
“So where are we going,” I asked?
“I could drive you home to Potts Point,” he said.
“And Option B?” I enquired.
“You could come back to my place for some fun,” he replied...
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