Around 10.00 PM, the bar was jam–packed. Isabelle and Jimi occupied a booth, and there were already seven or eight empty bottles on the table.
“Hey, there. You seem like you can handle your drinks. Want to join me for a drink? If I’m happy, I’ll foot the bill tonight.” a thin guy with a buzz cut came over, drink in hand. He was trailed by seven or eight pals.
Isabelle and Jim paid him no mind, carrying on their chat and toasting, as though he didn’t exist.
Feeling snubbed, Buzz Cut felt awkward as his smile faded. He plonked himself down next to Isabelle.
“Hey, pretty girl. Why are you ignoring me?” he asked, attempting to put his arm around Isabelle. “I’m not a creep. Just trying to make friends.”
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