Fernando turned to see who’d tapped him, though he’d half-guessed already. It was the beautiful girl from the dance floor. Up close, she looked every bit as lovely as she smelled. Her eyes were blue and electric, her rosy lips framed in the most luscious pout. She was slender yet shapely. Cream-complected.
She wore a shimmering blue sheath of a dress that looked like one good tug would do it. Over her bare shoulder, she tossed back her long dark shining sheet of hair. Hands on her hips, she glared at him.
“What’s your deal?” she snapped. “You bought drinks for all my friends, but not for me?” Before Fernando could say anything to this, she added with a note of triumph, “I’ve been watching—I know it was you. So, how am I not supposed to feel insulted by this?”
Fernando looked her over from gleaming head to glittering toe. “What would you like to drink?”
Shifting slightly in her spike heels, she replied, “A strawberry martini.”
Fernando ordered her the martini. As she sipped, she snuck glances at him through her wingtip lashes. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t.
“Aren’t you going to ask me my name?” she demanded at last.
“What’s your name?”
“Alejandra. What’s yours?”
“Franco,” he lied.
“Franco,” she said, smiling coyly. “Where are you from, Franco? I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“I’m from Cortez.”
Her pert nose wrinkled. “Oh,” she said. “You don’t look like you’re from there.”
“Where do I look like I’m from?”
She shrugged delicately. “Some place exotic. Like Cartagena.”
Fernando cracked a grin at her idea of ‘exotic’ being Cartagena. Thinking he’d grinned because what she’d said was clever, she preened and tossed her hair again. She was clearly accustomed to all the men who humored her finding her endlessly entertaining. Nearly every man who crossed her path, Fernando reckoned.
“I’m attending the local hospitality school here. Once I’ve graduated and saved up enough cash, I’m going to move there. It’s so boring in this place.” When he said nothing to this bit of petulant fancy, she asked, “What do you do for work?”
“Construction.”
She touched his arm, squeezing lightly. “Is that why you’re so strong? Swinging hammers all day?”
“No, that’s from wood work.”
Missing the innuendo, she asked him tritely, “So, what brought you here tonight?”
“My friends brought me here.”
Though Fernando hadn’t asked, she responded at once with, “My friends brought me out, too. We’re having a girls’ night.”
Not bothering to point out the irony, Fernando skimmed his eyes over her again. “If you’re having a ‘girls’ night,’ why aren’t you wearing any panties?”
Her eyes widened in surprise, before narrowing slyly. “How did you know that?”
“I didn’t,” Fernando said as he took a smooth sip, “but now I do.”
Alejandra laughed. “You’re a funny guy, Franco.” Plucking up the berry planed through her martini glass, she nibbled at it. “Okay, so you got me, I’m not just out for a girls’ night. My ex cheated on me, so I’m out for revenge.”
Fernando glanced out at the crowd. “Which one is he?”
“Which one is who?”
“Your ex.”
“Oh,” she said, waving carelessly. “He’s not here.”
“How are you going to get revenge on him if he’s not here to witness it?”
She gave him a haughty look. “That doesn’t matter. This isn’t for him, it’s for me. You know what I mean?”
Fernando nodded. “I know what you mean.”
“Besides,” she said impishly, “he’s bound to find out about it, one way or another. Nothing stays secret forever.”
Fernando’s lips thinned. “You really believe that?”
“Of course,” she said, unthinking.
At the chill in his demeanor, a fine crease knit her brow. She simpered.
“You act like you don’t like me.”
Fernando shrugged. “It’s nothing personal.”
“No?”
Against the rim of his glass, Fernando’s lips curved. “I don’t like anyone.”
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La Gorgona © CS Dark Fantasy