he looked up from his drink, smiled, and continued to stare into the glass. thinking thinking, should i get up should i go talk to her? what should i say? pickup lines. there must be some of those in there somewhere.

he walked over, a near saunter, but not so confident as to exude asshole.

another smile. he has a nice smile. not too shady, but with that touch of damn i'm good. inside, he's dying.

"nice..."

he trails off. what to say next? the obvious next word is "tits" becuase, well, he's been staring at them all night, and it's more than obvious that he's gotten more than a passing glance, even from the bar. not really too polite though. truthful or tactful. running through his head. in that second, in that pause, see it in his eyes.

what's it going to be? his mouth opens as his lips form around the word

"dress."

"i like your dress."

no. he looks, deep, reaction? not one bit. he looks crushed, broken. realizing that, quite possibly, he made the wrong choice.