“Leo,” he answers, the soft rasp in his voice mixing with a hiss of carbonated relief as he pops the cap of his beer bottle off with the white lighter in his hand. “And yours?”
He looks back up at you with eyes like a doe, perfectly matching the chocolate brown of his shoulder length hair currently pulled up into a loosely put together ponytail, a few strands falling in his face.
And there was something about those eyes that make you want to drown in them; delighting in the variety of earthy hues until you could unearth the mysteries that seem to rest within them. Its those eyes that pull you in, and you cant help but expose another grin before responding.
“Charlotte,” you say through your smile.
He forms a smirk with his full lips and you’re almost annoyed with how attractive you find such a simple action.
“You know, white lighters are bad luck,” you add as you pull out one of your own and light a 100.
“Well hey, we both share in the self-inflicted deprivation of luck,” he says, “And cancer. I’d say that’s as good of a foundation as any to build a solid conversation from.”
You unscrew the lid of your flask and take a swig of whiskey, already feeling yourself charmed by his sarcastic wit.
“Alright,” you agree, resting you elbow on the arm of the chair, closing the gap between your face and the one of the intriguing stranger in front of you just a little more. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
“Oh, I’ve got the goods sweetheart,” he quickly retorts and you breathe out a laugh.
“Then shoot, cowboy.”