1° lesson: Don't judge a book by its cover (part 1/2)
Sevika hated her job...ok, that wasn’t entirely the truth. She actually hated the bar. It was full of college students, that she constantly had to deny service for being unable to handle a couple shots. Full of middle-aged men who hit on everything that moved, and sometimes caused her problems.
Sevika didn’t particularly like anyone who came into the bar. They were too loud, trying too hard to have a good time and she often didn't pay enough attention to care, just get the money, serve the drinks, wipe the counters, and kick any asshole that wants to give her a headache.
But tonight.. something was different.
The heavy door to the bar creaked open, cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke and stale beer like a fresh breeze. Sevika's eyes flicked up from the sticky rag she was using to scrub a ring of condensation off the counter.
There, framed in the dim glow of the neon sign outside, stood a woman who didn't belong in this dive—tall and poised, her dark skin glowing under the flickering lights. Her curves were wrapped in a fitted golden dress that hugged her hips and dipped low at the neckline, revealing the smooth swell of her cleavage. Loose curls framed her face, cascading over shoulders that carried an effortless grace, and her full lips curved into a subtle smile as she scanned the room.
Sevika's hand stilled, the rag forgotten in her grip. The woman's presence pulled at her like a magnet, silencing the usual clamor in her head. Those deep green eyes locked onto the bar, and for a split second, Sevika felt exposed, her broad frame suddenly too still behind the counter. The dark-skinned beauty moved with purpose, her heels clicking against the worn floorboards as she approached, weaving past a cluster of rowdy frat boys without a glance. Sevika swallowed, tasting the faint bitterness of her last sip, and straightened up, her muscles tensing under her shirt. Who the hell was she? And why did the air suddenly feel heavier, charged with something Sevika hadn't felt in this shithole for a while..
"We don't have any fancy drinks here, Love. Everything here is too strong for your liking."
"Well, that's a bit rude. You're just supposing it because of my appearance."
Sevika paused, her hand resting on the edge of the scarred wooden bar. The woman's voice cut through the din of laughter and clinking glasses like a sharp blade, laced with a confidence that made Sevika's lips twitch into an almost-smile. She looked up, meeting those piercing eyes framed by dark lashes, and felt a flicker of curiosity pierce her usual indifference. This one wasn't slurring her words or leering; she sat poised on the stool, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the countertop, nails painted a deep crimson that matched the flush creeping up Sevika's neck.
"Fair enough," Sevika conceded, leaning forward slightly, her voice dropping to a gravelly murmur that carried over the rowdy chatter. "What's your name, then? Can't keep calling you 'Love' all night."
The woman tilted her head, a sly curve playing at her lips. "You can call me Mel."..
kianamaiart
theartofmadeline
turnnoffyourmind
