He met you in a seedy club in the red light district of whatever city he was in for that night (they all tended to look the same after a while). You were sitting on a bar stool, kicking your feet every once and awhile, and you looked completely out of place amongst the bimbos and the prostitutes that frequented this place. It would be hard to get into your pants. Too hard, most drunk, horny guys would say.
But Alfred F. Jones always liked a challenge.
He walked over, every other guy moving out of the way as soon as they saw him coming. They knew the alpha male when they saw him. Sliding onto the stool beside you, he glanced over at what you were drinking, and was surprised and slightly disgusted when he saw a glass of what looked like regular Coca-Cola in front of you.
“You even know what’s in that stuff, doll?” he said with a slight smirk, glancing condescendingly at the offending drink in front of you.
You scoffed, rolling your eyes and taking a sip of the caffeinated drink in front of you. “That’s the shitiest pick up line I’ve heard all night, and I’ve heard some really bad ones.”
Alfred’s eyebrows rose slightly, completely unused to snarky responses. “Well then. What crawled up your ass and died?”
“Satan, obviously. Can’t you tell?”
And there is was again. The snark. It was getting really old, really fast. “So what’s a babe like you doin’ in a place like this?”
“Just adoring all of the wonderful attention I’ve been getting from drunken bastards like you,” you said. This response was so full of sarcasm, Alfred was a tad surprised that the entire club hadn’t drowned in it.
A few girls, drunker than most of the other clubbers, each supporting one another, called out in slurred voices “Heyyyyyy ______! You got yourself a hunk there!”
The crabby woman rolled her eyes and downed the rest of her chemically altered scientific creation that wasn’t fit for human consumption (at least in his opinion) before standing up. “Duty calls. Nice talking to ya, now go die in a hole.” And with a sarcastic salute, she walked over to her friends and disappeared into the swarm of dancers.
Perhaps this would be a bit more challenging than he had originally anticipated.
He stayed in that city for a bit longer than anticipated, hoping to get another glimpse at the strange, angry girl who managed to piss him off but yet also seemed to be on his mind all of the time. No one had ever dared speak to him like that before, but yet this woman seemed to think that is was perfectly okay to sass him whenever you felt like it.
After a few weeks, you reappeared, on the same barstool, drinking the same mixture of chemicals, the same unamused scowl on her face. He made his way over to her, and sat down again. You glanced over, and when you saw it was Alfred, you scoffed and rolled her eyes.
“No, I won’t have sex with you if you buy me a drink, so don’t even bother asking,” you growled, and Alfred grinned, showing off his missing tooth.
“I wouldn’t even offer to buy you that disgusting mixture of chemicals anyways. It’s like you’re drinking a fuckin’ cigarette.” Alfred retorted, taking a gulp of a water bottle he brought from home (tap water had just as many chemicals as the concoction you were drinking, in his opinion).
“Stop being an over dramatic little bitch. I don’t need a life lecture because I’m drinking a soda instead of a beer or some other girly alcoholic drink, Captain Water Bottle.”
Alfred’s temper was slowly climbing, but he tried to keep it in check. The last thing he needed was another murder charge the government had to pardon him on… They were still pretty pissed at him about the last time.
“Name’s Alfred, doll. Call me Al.” he said.
“I’ll call you whatever I want to, Fluffy.” You said with a smirk that told him that you knew that you were playing with fire. You just didn’t care. His hand automatically reached for his custom made Louisville Slugger bat with a couple dozen nails hammered into the barrel, but he stopped himself. This girl was amusing, it would be a shame to lose that.
“Whatever, doll, whatever.”
“Don’t call me that,” you growled, hand tightening on the glass in front of you. So now he knew how to get under your skin. Wonderful.
“I’ll call you whatever I want to, doll,” Alfred said, repeating the words you had said moments before.
Standing up, you emptied the dregs of your Coke on the top of his head, the murky liquid flattening his cowlick for a moment before it resumed defying gravity. That was it. The line had been crossed. No one, no one, did that and lived.
With a ferocious growl, Alfred grabbed his bat and swung it at your head, only to have you step closer and thrust your forearm out, stopping the bat in its tracks, your expression remaining cool and detached from the situation.
And goddamn his mind, but he couldn’t help but think about just how close you were to him.
“Just kiss her already, dude!” a drunk called out from the sea of people watching the spectacle occur, but before Alfred could react, you were gone.
And so the game continued.
A few nights later in the same club, the same spot, the same scowl, the same drink, and the same you, Alfred sat down again.
“You fucked up real bad, doll. You’re lucky you dodged that so quick, I would have killed you,” he said, not even looking at you. You stared straight ahead, as usual, swirling the ice in the glass with a paper umbrella.
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” you said after a few minutes. “I take karate to deal with people like you.”
“People like me, doll?” Alfred prompted.
“Yeah, people like you. Handsome jerks who think they’re the best at everything and can have any woman they want. I know your type.”
“But you don’t know me, doll. There’s the difference.”
With an annoyed growl, you spun your bar stool around to face him, grabbed his shirt, and dragged him into a fierce kiss. A split second later, you broke the kiss, stood up, and disappeared into the crowd.
To Alfred, the game had only just begun. And it would be great.