vignette: depends

She looked easy, sitting alone at the end of the bar, eyes fixed on her empty beer bottle.

"Let me buy you one," I said, with Smile #2: Innocent Guy Out For Clean Fun.

"Okay," she said, giving me a quick grin. "Kit."

"Dex. San Mig?"

"Okay," she nodded.

By the time our drinks came we were laughing like old friends, going through the necessary small talk of lousy jobs, stupid politics, cell phone comparisons and crazy relatives.

She didn't look bad, not that things like that really mattered to me. In fact, she was a looker from a certain angle, a little bit like that curvy sweetheart who died in a car crash around a year ago. What I did find really attractive was her voice, just right in terms of pitch and tone (unlike last week's girl, who, if I were draw her, would have word balloons with musical notes in them, like that ditz in Josie & The Pussycats).

When I had spent the requisite thirty minutes or so making her feel comfortable, I asked her if she wanted to have some fun.

"Depends on your idea of fun," she said.

"Well," I replied, "That depends on how much fun you're ready to have."

"Depends," she shrugged with a little smile.

"On what?" I asked.

She took a swig on her fourth beer and set it down on the bar.

"I'm not easy."

"I didn't think you were."

"No, no," she said. "I'm easy to get, easy to get to play with, but..."

"But?"

"Not easy to please."

I laughed so hard that for a moment I thought the beer in my mouth would exit through my nose.

"That's, that's, you know," I said.

"Forward?" she offered.

"Forward," I nodded.

"Just as forward as you are," she said. "Intimidated?"

"Not at all," I said, giving her Smile #9: Raunchy Man.

"You should be."

"Why's that?"

"I carry a gun."