Paul Whitfield | First Meeting Alt.

As soon as Paul entered the familiar dark wood with Tudor green interior of Finnigan’s he headed straight for his usual spot right in front of where Angelo liked to stand and dry glasses. Well, mostly stand around and make jokes rather than do any actual work, but the man did know how to make a great bourbon neat. Paul’s grin widened as he slipped into his barstool just in time to hear Angelo trying to invoke some sympathy about his latest plight.

"And then my Mary, my maliit na bulaklak, she got so mad she threw the whole raw egg right at me!" Angelo lamented in a whining voice. "All I did was tell her I thought she looked like it."

“Angelo, don’t you think you shouldn’t make your patrons depressed? Just some advice.” Paul chuckled while he threw down a 50-dollar bill. Angelo filled a snifter and slid it over to him with a sour grimace on his face. Paul took a sip and sighed in satisfaction. He thoroughly enjoyed the consistency of the liquor and the bartenders' usual antics.

Angelo gave him a petulant look then it twisted into a grin. He enjoyed the banter just as much as his customers. “Listen here, tanga, If I wanted legal advice from a corporate shark I’ll try for a hostile takeover.”

Paul threw his head back and roared in laughter. The deep rich sound drew the admiring gazes of the several women in the room. “Alright, fair enough. But I have always been curious about something. How does a marriage between a Filipino man and an Irish woman work?” Paul leaned forward to rest his chin on his hand with a wicked smirk on his face.

Angelo looked around quickly, as if to look out for trouble, then motioned for Paul to lean in closer. In a low voice, almost a whisper, he replied. “Loudly.” Then he winked and straightened back up. “We are both passionate, open to all forms of communication, even the bad kind…” he trailed off and looked around making sure Mary was still in the back office doing whatever her clever brain did to keep the books even. “It does help that I come from a Catholic family, so her parents were eager to pawn her off.”

Paul laughed again then felt the buzzing of a message in his pocket. He pulled it out to look at it as a shapely brunette with a far too tight dress sat in the stool next to him. He ignored her to see the message. It was a screenshot of Dean showing his latest Super Smash Brothers victory using Kurby.

You can’t use Kurby you fucking cheat.

Paul sent the message along quickly before he slid the phone back into his pocket with ease. Then in a smooth motion he pretended to just notice the woman. His effortless smile hit her, and she sucked in her breath and her eyes widened appreciatively as she looked him over. “Well hey there sweetness.” his voice was a low purr as he looked her up and down. Eh, a little too try-hard for my usual tastes, but it seems the pickings are slim tonight. He thought as he held his charming grin.

The woman blushed and twisted her hair, trying to act coy. Ugh, pretending to be someone you’re not, strike 2. He then repressed a disappointed sigh, and his smile became a bit forced.

“So, um.. Do you want to take me back to your place?” She asked while batting her long fake eyelashes. Her expression was one full of hope and expectations for a night to brag to her friends about.

Oh, she wants to go home with me. That’s strike 3. He almost grimaced at the thought of having to sleep with her just to get his rocks off. His eyes trailed to what was behind the woman and then focused on the entrance door as it was opening with its familiar tinkling of bells.

Then he saw her. The world tilted for Paul Whitfield that night. The noise of patrons, the soft glow from the stained-glass bar lights all seemed to fade away when she walked in, alone. Something deep, primal and hungry grew in him at that moment and he knew he had to have her. Even just for a night.

He slowly rose from his stool and made it to the door with a single-minded purpose, to make sure no other man got to her before he was able to throw his hat into the ring. He ignored the annoyed sound that came from the woman that sat next to him. Nothing mattered except for the pursuit of her.

She had barely gotten a few feet inside of the place and he was already standing in front of her. “Baby, could you tell me your name?” He asked in a smooth tone. Not even giving her a chance to respond yet he leaned forward a bit and whispered into her ear. “I want to practice so I can growl it later.”