Can You Feel It?

08.

I leaned forward, looking around casually, surveying my surroundings and then stopped to let my eyes run over the lanky figure two seats over. As if it wasn't calculated, as if he naturally piqued my interest.

People can sense when someone gazes at them. Most of the time at least. Call it a sixth sense if you will.

And that was exactly what I was banking on as I checked out the man. For someone who ran in the circles he did, paranoid and always alert, he would definitely sense my presence and gaze like a living breathing entity.

My drink slid in front of me and I got to sipping on it, once more looking away from Jones.

My disguise for today was something mediocore. A short black backless number with a belt, seductive but not too attention grabbing while the black hair wig changed my look.

Two more drinks in and a vodka later, I got up from my seat with one more shot of vodka in hand and stumbled in Jones' doirection. Blinking as I breathed in deeply and licked my dry lips, tasting the strawberry flavor of the gloss, I accidently spilled the drink on Jones as I knocked into his barstool.

"Oops!" I winced and gathered my bearings, looking at the quickly soaked stain on his light blue shirt as he leaned back to inspect the damage. "Sorry, damnit, so sorry, oh god I didn't mean..I think I just—" I hiccuped, "Sorry I—"

"It's fine, Miss. Are you...."

I hiccuped again, blinking as if to clear my vision. "Mmmm..."

"Alright?"

I felt him grab onto my arms  as I half collapsed into him. But he kept his distance, respectfully leaning back.

"Alright?" I parroted, looking up at him as I let my lip quiver, "No. Not...really."

"Right. I think you're just drunk—"

"Will you take me home?" I blurted out.

Not a direct proposition but there's no way this man would skip out on shooting his shot. Or so I hoped.

He let go of me but I simply slumped against him, looking up at him through my lashes and droopy uptilted eyes.

Make-up could work wonders and it'd been my longest companion.

"Are you Japanese?"

Jones Hill had a weakness for Asian features. 

A stroke of the brush here, one there, some lashes and voila; I had the uptilted eyes that were the most apparent feature of the stigmatized Asian. I could pass off as at least half Asian. And I would be quite hard to recognize. Such was the ability to shape-shift that make-up could give to a powerless human. 

Let's go with a Chinese though, I don't know Korean and the Japanese identity would raise questions whether I was from the Yakuza.

"Hm, no...Chinese." I kind of slurred, blending my words into each other.

He hesitated, his hands instinctively resting on my waist to hold me still. Indecision warred in his eyes and I capitalized on that, rubbing myself slightly against him as I let out a whimper and further immersed myself into the inebiriated persona.