Checkmate
He sits alone by the bar, nursing a foamy draught beer that’s begun to sweat. All around him, the club is pumping. Music is throbbing, making hearts and ears pound. The DJ is riling up the crowd, the bottle girls weaving in and out between tables. A bachelorette party is downing shots. Three men nearby are eyeing the group, nudging one another to make a move. And he’s sitting alone. He doesn’t mind. He’s not here to make friends. He takes another sip of his beer, lets the cool liquid soothe his scratchy throat. He coughs. From the corner of his eye, he sees her walk in. An angel . The first thing he notices is her lips—blood-red, glossy, and enticing. Her blonde curls sway. The gold sequins on her dress catch the flickering lights, making her glitter. She leans over the bar as she settles herself onto the high stool. “One margarita, please,” her voice a velvety alto. He shivers. I have to talk to her . He takes a sip of liquid courage, then walks up to her, be...