Grey Goose Martini, stirred
Meegan was feeling tired, sore, and just a little sorry for herself, when the limo she'd called pulled up infront of the hotel. She like the bar in this hotel, it was a dark quiet place that made her feel she could drown her sorrows with out the lecherous stares of some of the more prominent clubs and bars on the Strip. And tonight she was in need of dark comfort.
She tried to talk herself out of her mood, as the driver opened her door and she set her brown leather straped heels on the ground. 'It's not like you really have a good reason to be in such a blue funk. You have a great assistant that has taken to her job like a fish to water. Two new friends to replace the ones you've lost, and a grand victory over that jackass in Georgia. You should be here to celebrate, but instead you are here to mope.'
Meegan sighed, as the heat that still lingered in the late evening air, hit her in the face. She stood fully and smoothed the silky cream fabric of her dress. She had liked this particular dress, when she'd seen it at the Versace show and had purchased it. This was the first time she'd worn it and it's soft swaying skirt seemed to fit her mood perfectly.
She thanked her driver and told him she would call when she was ready to leave, and to have a nice evening. The man at the door opened it and bowed her inside with a smile and an enthusiastic "Welcome to the Grand Piazza." She did her best to smile at him and made her way into the bar, and took up a seat at the dark mahogany rail and ordered a Grey Goose Martini, stirred.
((ooc anyone is welcome to join the sad little Meegan.))
"Where do you live?" he asked as he knocked back the last bit of Scotch and pushed the glass away. He stood from his stool and had to stretch, pulling his arms high over his head; damn, his muscles were still sore.
"It's not too far. About six blocks from the end of the industrial district. A great little condo building on fifty-third and Elm."
"You have got to be fucking with me? There is no possible way. This is all just a bit unreal for me."
She looked down at his extended hand and suddenly felt her skin crawl. 'Now what was that about?' She took a moment to study her feelings and decided that things like this were not in her realm of acceptablity and she would just have to find a way to cope. 'What in the hell am I going to do with a neighbor, who is not only a rock star, but one I want to add things to the Kama Sutra with? Why do the most bizarre things always happen to me?' Finally she reached out and took his hand, the crawling was replaced by a small jolt of electricity. 'Damnit!'
"Did you drive, or will you need a ride with me?"
She let herself be led from the bar, feeling just a little disappointed that her bubble had been popped.
"Did you drive, or will you need a ride with me?"
Meegan looked up at him.
"I have a driver. You can ride with me if you want." She reached into the purse she had instictively pulled onto her shoulder, and pulled out her cell.
"I have a driver. You can ride with me if you want."
"I'd rather not leave my bike here... Why don't you tell your driver to go get laid, and we'll cruise down on my bike." He smiled at her, a little mischievously as he led her toward the front door.
"Look, that line would have worked, if I was in jeans, but there is no way in hell I'm going to get on a motorcycle in a dress, and a Versace on top of it."
Meegan wrinkled her nose at him, and depressed the button on her phone that had the driver's number saved.
"I'm ready to leave." She pressed disconnect and put her phone back in her purse, when her smile faded.
"Oh shit! I forgot to pay. I'm going to blame you." She turned on her heel and started back toward the bar.
"I'm not getting on that thing with you in this, thank you very much. Would it kill you to just meet me at home?"
'Oh good Lord. Did that just come out of my mouth?' She shook free from his grasp, her chest heaving just slightly.
"I said, my bike will be alright. As in, my bike will be alright if I leave it here. Or would you prefer it if I followed you...?"
"If you're ok with leaving it, the driver should be at the door by now."
Meegan started toward the lobby doors making sure his hand stayed put as she moved.
Meegan's behavior was beginning to gnaw at him. Surely a woman in such a high profile position should be able to control herself a little better. She was acting like a giddy schoolgirl that just met the man of her daydre--
With a slight, almost invisible smirk, he glanced at her. "Are you a fan of Starface, Meegan?"
"I'm acting like an idiot aren't I? You would think with all of the Hollywood I've met I could live my life with out being star struck. Look, I'm sorry." Meegan stepped a bit closer, so that her leg brushed against his.
"I think I might just like to ride home on your bike." Her voice a low and quiet.
"It's up to you. We can take your limo if you're that worried about your dress. Or we can take my bike, and I'll reimburse you if anything happens to it." Smiling, he left off any indication of when that damage might occur....
"I'm more interested in feeling raw horsepower under my ass, and you between my legs, than the damage to my dress."
He had a strong urge to lift his leg, to press it firmly between Meegan's leg. But he restrained himself. The delicate touch of her firm breast on his arm was too much, though. Clenching his teeth against the desire to pull her against him, Drev leaned away from her just a tiny bit.
"Let's go then," he said in a low voice, his eyes almost glowing.
She stepped through the door held open for her by the doorman, and with a glance behind her, made sure she was being followed. She approached her driver, spoke briefly with him, before pulling a few bills from her purse. She slipped them in his hand and turned back to her new neighbor. She held her hand out to him and smiled.
"Shall we?"
The bike is simply massive. It's been customized through and through; it began its life as a Harley Softail, but evolved over the years into a remarkable street machine. Everything that's not chrome is black. Even the chrome looks darker than it should, though. The handle bars rise into the air like some mutated antennae; Drev has to reach above the level of his shoulders.
"I'm sorry, but I don't have a helmet for you to wear," he says with a hint of apology. When they get to the bike, he releases her arm and fishes the keys out of his pocket. He swings a leg over the hog, then holds a hand out to help Meegan climb on.