I swallowed sinful thoughts, my leg doing a nervous bounce. "Working on this one."

He asked, "Is Miss Bijou waiting on someone special?"

"Everybody's either waiting on somebody or looking for somebody."

He smiled a confident smile. He had charisma. And he knew he had charisma.

I looked at his left hand, didn't see a wedding ring. Still wasn't sure if he was Karl or Mark, just knew he was one of the twins, all dressed up, in my personal space, engaging me in a flirting game.

I played along, thrilled to be sitting next to him, impressed that he dressed so well. The sense of smell was one to be reckoned with. His Egoiste aroma forever enchanting and maddening.

I asked, "What're your intentions?"

"What do you mean?"

"Seems like you're trying to get me filled with alcohol, mister. And why?"

"Just being a nice guy."

I laughed. "You're being very obvious."

"Am I?"

"Yes, you are."

"No more obvious than you."

I chuckled. "Am I?"

"Very. Your body language. Says you're available. Says come here, talk to me."

My mild laughter ended with an easy smile. "Okay. Then talk to me."

"Things bad between you and your boyfriend?"

"Didn't say I had a boyfriend."

"So you don't have a boyfriend."

"Didn't say that either."

"If you have one, things must be bad."

"And how did you come to that conclusion?"

"You're at a bar. Alone."

"So are you."

"You have that beautiful and sexy dress on, that slit that shows just enough of your leg, a leg that is toned I might add, the cleavage, all of that on display so whoever comes over will know what's up."

"Oh, please."

He asked, "Beautiful woman like you, why are you still single?"

"Just am. No laws against that. Why are you single? Never found the right girl?"

"I've tried."

"Or are you just a guy who can't settle down with one woman?"

"Like I said, I've tried."

"Tell me anything."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you want an application."

"Would rather have a coochie coupon instead of an application."

"Bet you would love to get a coupon."

"And I'll say what I have to in order to get one."

"At least you're honest."

We laughed, his the laugh of Barbados, mine rooted in the singsong rhythm of Trinidad.

He said, "Nia Simone Bijou."

"You remembered."

"Of course. Your name has a nice ring to it."

He didn't wear a wedding ring. Didn't seem like the one who would be interested in conversations about Sartre and existentialism. He was the haughty one with the kind hands of an artist.

I said, "Karl, right? I am being sexually harassed by Karl, right?"

"Good memory."

"Hard to tell who you are with your clothes on."

He laughed. "Should be easy."

"How so?"

"I'm the good-looking brother. Mark is the ugly one."

"I'll make a note of that."

His eyes were all over my body, my hair, my clothing. Amazed by my transformation.

He said, "You made it back out. In the rain."

"Was bored, decided to get out. In the rain."

I didn't ask him where his brother was to night. Wanted to, but didn't.

Bird in the hand.

Still.

Married men were safer. You knew what it was about, so your heart was protected.

I asked, "How was the rest of your day?"

"Spent the evening on the phone with a client. Have to drive to Greensboro to work."

"Greensboro?"

"North Carolina. Other side of Charlotte. New client wants me to come do a photo shoot."

"Louche characters?"

"Probably. Customer wants fantasy shots. Got my info off my Web site, we agreed on a fee for doing erotic shots. Yeah. Louche. What ever pays the bills, as long as it's legal. I'm not one to judge."

"Bet it would be pretty interesting to tag along and see how you work."

"You could. It's a lot of setup and waiting. It would probably bore you to death."

"Doesn't matter. I'm a writer. We like to see everything."

His cellular rang. He looked at the caller ID, put his phone away.

I chuckled.

Single men, too many games. But it was always a buyer's market for them.

In the end, either you wanted too much or they wanted too little.

Would've asked about Mark, but the flirty game Karl just played, well, it turned me on.

I sipped on my apple martini.

We engaged in small talk. Flirty small talk. Eye contact. Engaged in the kind of conversation that was more about body language than content. Content was irrelevant when body language, the way he shifted, the way I shifted, the way he touched me on my arm occasionally, the way I touched his hand when it was appropriate, the proximity of our bodies, that was the true conversation. Words moved back and forth between us, words that owned no true value because in this moment we were more than words.

He rubbed my leg with his middle finger. "Let me guess."

"What?"

"You were the homecoming queen, right?"

"You're pushing it."

"You look exotic enough to be homecoming queen."

"You are really pushing it."

"Your personality is magnetic. And you're smart."

"And I'm still at a bar, alone, sipping on a drink with a man I met this morning."

"Let me guess."

"Go right ahead."

"Pretty woman like you, bet the captain of the basketball team took you to the prom."

"Football team. Had a thing for football players. He was my first heartbreak."

"Where is that heartbreaking fool now?"

"Who knows?"

"Guess he's not famous, huh?"

"Guess not."

"You dumped him?"

"He...he met another cheerleader. New yoni, you know how that goes."

"Yoni?"

"You might know it as a vagina."

"Oh, you're talking about your pussy."

I slapped his hand. "I hate that word."

"I love pussy."

I laughed at him. "Yoni is the Kama Sutra word. Sounds less vulgar."

"You're into Kama Sutra?"

"I'm into a lot of things."