Hook Up - Sex Stories

Hook Up

Too Close For Comfort

Chapter One: Hook Up

My eyes instinctively look to the door as I take a sip from the glass of neat bourbon that had sat before me on the bar for best part of an hour. Spotting the middle-aged man in a dark over coat step into Sharkey's Bar immediately squashes my heighten expectations.

Swallowing the harsh liquid, I set the now near empty glass back on to the dark marble surface before me.

The quiet and dimly lit bar was unfamiliar to me, the City I now called home was still largely unfamiliar to me. I had moved here only months previous and had kept some what intentionally kept a low profile, barely even venturing beyond the familiarity of the large three storey house I had purchased on the outskirts of the city. The ongoing conversion of the vast but rundown property that had been in desperate need of modernisation, which explained the low purchase price I had paid, was a drain on both my time and my currently limited finances.

Tonight, constituted a welcome break from such mundanity.

"Refill," the pretty faced dark-haired girl behind the bar offered with a polite and sincere enough smile.

"Why not?" I offer barely able to hold back the tone of frustrated disappointment in my voice.

She does not react as she takes the nearly spent glass from before me, I am about to protest that I had not finished the drink when she swiftly places a fresh clean glass before me and pours, free hand, a more than generous fresh measure of amber ...

... liquid over the single ice cube nestled in the glass.

"Thank you." I offer taking a sip of bourbon that burns satisfactorily in my throat as I swallow.

"Waiting for someone?" The brunette idly offers as she procures a damp cloth and wipes the bar surface to my right-hand side.

"Someone I suspect who isn't arriving" I offer, looking briefly towards her as I tap my finger to the screen of my phone that sits atop the bar next to me.

No new notifications await me, at least not from the one app I hoped to see listed amongst the notifications of new emails, marketing offers from food delivery companies and social media notifications.

Raising the phone the front screen recognises me by facial recognition and unlocks automatically, as it does I tap the app conveniently placed on the front page of the phones display. The app opens after a momentary frustrating pause, opening directly into my 'direct message' inbox. The sole thread of messages sits without an update in the last forty-seven minutes.

I tap the screen to enter into the string of associated messages that have been exchanged over the last two weeks, messages that had built in both length and intensity on planning this evenings proposed rendezvous. The last message being my response to hers at seven minutes past eight, assuring her 'That's fine, see you shortly' in response to her message ambiguously explaining 'Work headaches. Running late but on my way.'

Such was the intended ambiguity of our meet I knew ...