Blaine sat down on an empty barstool between a likely prospect and King-fucking-Kong. He cocked his head, summoning the bartender as he ran his freshly manicured hands over the textured cashmere of his Kilton pinstripe suit, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.
"A Skinny Pirate, please."
The bartender quirked an eyebrow but otherwise kept his face expressionless. "Coming right up."
His peripheral vision picked up movement to his left. King Kong was looking him over. He turned his head to the right, ignoring the hairy behemoth, to check out his hopeful hookup for the night.
The man was maybe a couple inches taller than himself, casually dressed in freshly pressed khakis and a clean navy polo shirt. His dark wavy hair was neatly trimmed, and his hands, while not professionally manicured, were well maintained.
The man concentrated on a Screwdriver, studiously ignoring him, though. Fuck. The bartender placed the drink in front of him, and he slapped some bills on the bar.
"Why's that called a Skinny Pirate? Looks like rum and Coke to me."
Blaine sighed and turned to the muscle-bound hulk. "Because it's made with Captain Morgan rum and Diet Coke." He picked up his drink and spun on the stool to cast his eyes over the room. Nothing. No singles, anyway. The patrons all appeared to be part of a couple.
Kong turned on his seat and brought a domestic longneck up to his lips. The man was big and hairy—except for his bald head—but basically clean, albeit slightly rumpled, in jeans and a snug t-shirt. His goatee could use a trim and minute traces of grease stained his cuticles.
"Not much hope out there. I've already scoped the place."
Blaine glanced at the guy on his other side. Maybe there was still a chance.
"Preppy there's got someone that's going to be joining him." King Kong shrugged. "I already tried."
Shit. He took another look at King Kong. How bad did he really want to get laid tonight?
King Kong grinned. "Feelin' desperate, are ya?"
Fucker. Maybe not that bad.
King Kong actually wiggled his eyebrows. "I showered and everything."
Christ. The man was laughing at him. Sure he was picky, but he had a right to be, goddammit. He took a sip of his Skinny Pirate and cocked his head. "What's your name? Or should I just call you King Kong?"
The man's laughter reached his eyes. "That depends. You wanna be my Ann Darrow?"
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