As nights out went, Strahm had had both better and worse. It wasn’t like he could call someone and moan about everything, because anyone who knew him could easily tell him to shut up and keep ordering until he couldn’t walk straight, that it wasn’t as bad as it could be, like that night in Vegas- He caught himself in time. Let’s not go there.
Still, as nights went, this one wasn’t exactly what he’d call good, or even average. Every woman in the place seemed to be accompanied by a man, and it wasn’t like he could just call someone from the Bureau to have a couple of drinks with him, laugh off the week with him. Fucking liaison meetings... Yeah, the Jigsaw murders are important. But, fuck, does Kerry have to go on about it... during coffee breaks? What kinda coffee break is that?
Now, Kerry, she was rather good-looking, the type Strahm would have hit on, if she weren’t such an icy bitch, and if she didn’t keep making eyes with the man in the next office, Ethan Matthews, Eric Matthews, something like that. It was a shame, really, that she seemed to have so much ‘overtime’, as she’d told him, with Matthews hanging around the coffee machine, grinning like a kid just let out of school. Smug bastard.
Still, as nights out went, he could do worse, much worse, than sit there, downing glass after glass, checking out any apparently single woman sitting at the counter, wondering whether it would be worth learning that if they weren’t as single as he thought, imagining them slowly slipping their clothes off, settling on his lap. He went a little further thinking about the blonde in the little black dress, conjuring up the image of yanking off anything she was wearing down there and thrusting into her, right there, right in front of everyone.
“Another Budd,” he sighed to the bartender, as the woman sauntered away from the counter, right arm clasped around the waist of some lucky bastard, the type Strahm felt he could easily outdo in bed. The liquid was cool, refreshing, something that he could pretty much take for granted and not get fucked over by. His eyes began to wander the bar again, his mind eager for another scenario that was never going to happen.
He caught something, a young woman entering the bar, hair cut short, spiked a little, short, frayed, tattered black skirt, eyeliner making her eyes stand out even more than he could imagine they usually did. She swept the room with her gaze; his breath caught in his throat as she began to walk toward him, gait slow, deliberate. She sat down on one of the stools at the counter, head turned, a curious, lustful look glazing her eyes.
“Hey, gorgeous. You gotta name?”
“Peter. Special Agent Peter Strahm.” He’d learned from experience that most women at least liked the fact that he had a little authority, or maybe it was the easy access he had to handcuffs. Either way...
“You can just call me Amanda.”
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