City lights flicker, Her red hair catches the dusk— Coffee warms her hand. Style reference: Rembrant

So beautiful creation!

"Besides, top or not, we're still both there. I'm fine with either end of it. I'm thinking it's been a while since someone made it this far. So order the second cup and tell me what you're so afraid of?" He takes his cup from the waiter. "I have my second cup." Her eyes flash at his boldness but a small smile plays on her lips. Perhaps he will be worth her time and her risk. Should she let him get closer? Lower her guard a little more?

He was patient. It took her awhile to speak but it was worth the wait. She'd played her next move and had all but told him she wanted to play. "Well..." He drawled. "Let the games begin and the best...person...end up on top." He winks.

He was about to reply glibly but he stops as he sits slowly down. "Risk, huh?" He motions for the waiter to bring him some tea. Looking into her intense eyes, he sees more of what he suspected. There's a fragileness to her, a vulnerability that if he isn't going to be honest then she risks hurt, pain, and she has before. He wonders what fool took advantage of her to make her be so afraid. "My cards are on the table. No games. Let's just talk." He leans forward and just softly grins.

He smirks once more. "If I wanted to prove something to myself, I'd use the line. Consider me an explorer with a taste for adventure. I've put myself on the line. Your move, do I sit or go?"

He's had so many encounters like this where they thought themselves to high-and-mighty to be approached, but something about her hinted at a vulerability. He gets up and walks over. "I could try a line but something tells me it's been tried. I find you fascinating and that's beyond the looks and the polish. Shall I sit down and see if there's something there or am I wasting your time and mine?"

A beautiful woman and she knows that she is but it is more curse than blessing. She knows the man to her right is trying to work up the courage to talk to her; however, he seems to not be finding it. A soft sigh escapes her as she brushes a drop of tea from her lips. She runs a well-known art gallery and has plenty of friends and colleagues. There are dinner parties and going for drinks, yet she hasn't been asked out on a date in months. She knows the problem and that does very little to solve it since the solution lies beyond her abilities. If only men knew women like her just want to be talked to like people and not objects or art pieces. She was simply human...if you prick her, does she not bleed? Her heart does for the loneliness she feels envelope her.