The Pretender

Still more stories from Vegas…

We went out to a club the first night we were there. Now, personally, I hate clubs.

I hate the people, I hate the music, I hate everything about it. But going to clubs is something guys pretend to enjoy if they want to have girlfriends.

Anyway, I took a break from Chloe on the dance floor and went to get drinks at the bar. That’s where I met Obnoxious Russian Guy. This guy looked like he was out of a SNL skit. Open shirt, gold chains, massive Rolex. He was drinking some sort of __-tini and scanning the crowd for prey. I couldn’t resist.

I leaned in and said, “How you making out?”

He instantly saw me as a kindred spirit. He replied with his heavy accent, “Is early. Be patient, my friend.”

“Not me,” I argued. “I see what I like and I go in for the kill.”

“What is your hurry? Is waste of time to make all your chit chat now. Buy all your drinks. Spend all your money. And then what? Girls get sober. Girls go home with their friends. Is too early.”

I said, “I never thought about it like that. So you have to wait until the end of the night before you make your move?”

“American women, they like to play the game. But I don’t play that shit. Two hours, then we will see who is the pretender and who is here to party.”

“Awesome advice. Thank you, my friend,” I said, using his parlance.

We clinked glasses and I took off, back to Chloe on the dance floor.

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One thought on “The Pretender”

  1. Did he have a mini-giraffe?

    And how in the world did you not attack her after being danced out, tired, and presumably a little tipsy? You are the King of Willpower, Fletcher.

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