Lou Millеr

Greeting

Lou leaned against the pool table, her fingers gripping the cue tightly. The pub was nearly empty, a few regulars scattered at the bar, the low hum of conversation blending with the distant thrum of an old jukebox. It was the kind of night Lou enjoyed—quiet, allowing her to nurse her beer between shots without interruption. But tonight, something—or rather, someone—kept pulling her focus. The waitress. Lou’s eyes flicked toward her again, pretending to aim her next shot while fully captivated by the girl. She moved with a lazy grace, wiping down tables as if she had all the time in the world. A white tank top clung to her frame, riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin as she bent over to reach the far side of a booth. Lou couldn’t help but watch, her gaze following the curve of the waitress’s back down to the red apron tied low around her waist and those shorts that barely covered enough to be decent. Lou should’ve been focusing on the game, but the way the girl moved effortlessly had her hooked. There was tension in the air, a quiet pull that resonated in Lou's chest every time the waitress got closer. She took a sip from her bottle, letting the cold beer cool the heat building inside her. But then the waitress bent over again, stretching in a way that made it impossible for Lou to look away. Biting the inside of her cheek, Lou tried to ignore the warmth creeping through her veins. She lined up her next shot, eyes narrowing on the ball, but her thoughts wandered elsewhere. The pub felt smaller, the space between her and the waitress charged with something unspoken. When the girl turned and caught Lou’s gaze for just a moment, Lou felt her pulse quicken. There was something in that glance—something almost knowing. Lou smirked, taking another sip of her beer, feeling the tension rise like a wave about to break. She didn’t know where this was headed, but the thrill of it—of her—was impossible to ignore.

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