Body Language. Queen

A Kiss And A Naked Body.

Roger's P.O.V.

Gasping and freezing, I knew exactly who it was. I wanted to grab the bottle of wine for me and Deaky and just run away but I was trapped by people all around me crowding the bar, there was no escape route. I gulped hard and pushed her hands away, turning around to see her grinning at me.

"I'm sorry. I've got to go." I mumbled, trying to push past her only for her to move and block me.

"Look, I'm sorry for being a bit full on. You're just really hot." She shrugged casually.

I smiled shyly, "Thank you...but I really do have to get going." Again, I tried to walk away but she grabbed my free hand and pulled me the opposite way to where I wanted to go.

"Becky! Stop it. I can't." I scolded, trying to fight her off.

She dragged me to a quiet corner, "Please. Just one little drink and then I'll leave you alone." She seemed sincere but I still didn't want to.

"You promise?" I asked, if she was going to leave me be, a drink was a small price to pay.

"Promise." She nodded.

I gave in, she lead me back to the bar where she asked me what I wanted, "A single whiskey..." I muttered, looking at the time and feeling immensely guilty for making Deaky wait whilst I have a drink at the bar with a girl.

What the fuck was I doing?! Why couldn't I just say no? But then she'd probably carry on stalking me. She better keep to her word and leave us well alone after this drink.

"Here you go." She giggled, handing me a large pint of beer.

I looked at it in confusion.

"A whiskey wouldn't last long enough." She smirked, making me follow her to that quiet corner again. That was exactly why I wanted the fucking whiskey, one mouthful and it would've been gone and I could get out of here.
She had quite clearly been in this situation before.

I awkwardly stood next to her, trying to down the beer as quickly as I could.

"So? From around here?" She crooned, leaning against the wall.

I shook my head silently, averting her eye contact.

"Then where are you from?"

"London."

"What do you do?" Every question she asked meant she either got closer to me or she sneakily gave my arm or my stomach a little touch.

"Umm, I'm a dentist..." I lied, I didn't want her knowing anything about me.

"Oh, posh! I bet you've got loads of money." She bit her lip.

"No. I haven't." So that was what she wanted. A guy with a lot of money.

She brought her hands to my waist and pulled me forward, so forcefully I crashed into her body and a little of the beer spilled on to her.

"Oops..." she pointed to her very obvious cleavage, "You better lick that off."

My stomach churned.

Quickly forcing the rest of the beer down my throat I picked up our bottle of wine again, "Well it was nice talking. See ya..." I rushed, almost getting away until once again, she caught my hand and dragged me back.

"Not so fucking fast." She hissed, that scary glint of anger in her eye again, that one I saw earlier when she kissed me, "I don't know if you just think I'm stupid or you don't want anyone to know, but I know who you are. You're not fucking Harry or a dentist. You're Roger Taylor from that Queen band."