He was hot. In a sweaty way.

Not that I could talk, I’d out perspired a horse in this ensemble hours ago. 

“Who said I was nice?” I smirked, pulling an extra long neon pink straw from my French plait.

His muddy eyes widened, mouth flapping semi seductively, trying to formulate an answer. 

I tipped the appletini onto my plastic covered lap, hooking my ankles together to avoid spillage in one practiced move.”The mug was dirty as usual, this is fresh outta the packet. I’m Mags AKA, Bags.” 

Taking a long sip, cheeks puckered, eyes dancing wickedly.

“And you are..?”