<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">Morgen blinked with intoxication and found himself a touch dumbfounded at the sudden departure of both ladies. Most of life happened in either slow-motion and delayed recognition -- but that's what repeated shots of Lambfell Moar did on top of several pints of ale. One moment, he went from frisky and gregarious to staring at the opposite side of the table devoid of company. His glance followed the chocolate goddess and redhead who briskly made their way to the restrooms, and Morgen took a routine from their play-book and enjoyed the sight of their bodies sauntering around the corner. <br/>
<br/>
<i>I need to sober up,</i> he thought ... especially if there was going to be any action that evening. With a horny, liquor-addled mind, Morgen wasn't entirely sure what that meant. He and Jourdan had fucked in the past (obviously) but Freya had always been a red flag; they could have fucked -- he even thought that Freya would have been a great lay -- but they had this edgy, erotic yet hands-off friendship when they met Jourdan years ago. Oh, and she was a gold star dyke. But now with them married ... would Freya just watch or would she be participating with Morgen keeping his hands to himself. <i>Or better still if Freya went for a long walk while I showed Jourdan what she's been missing all these years.</i><br/>
<br/>
Amused by the notion of competition, Morgen ultimately knew that -- even if he won the battle that night -- he'd would exit their loft having lost the war for the woman he'd loved. Morgen called over the waitress and ordered the three shots of Lambfell Moar ... and a glass of water. <i>Christ, I'm getting old,</i> he thought sullenly as his hand rubbed his face. <br/>
<br/>
"Whatcha drawin', love?"<br/>
<br/>
Morgen sat upright in his stool at the sound of a sweet voice carried on an Irish lilt, and he gazed into the eyes of <a class="link link--external" href="https://i.imgur.com/8O4mN2W.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">the redhead</a> from the next table -- somehow more stunning when seen up close. He perked a small smile, a nervous gesture but quickly recovered. "You ... mean these?" he asked, sifting through his many <i>parti </i>sketches on square, white napkins. <br/>
<br/>
The redhead tilted her head and looked at them with a focused intelligence that caught Morgen off-guard. "You an <span style="font-size: 12px">AR</span>tist?" she asked with a smile, her Irish accent quite prevalent. The women spoke with a quiet confidence of a kind woman in a girl's body, like she belonged exactly where she stood with no qualms or reservations. Her dark blue eyes held a sparkle of energy that felt mystical, as if she harbored a curious spirit that feared little but held keen interest in <i>him</i>. Being the target of such a presence -- as she had made the first move -- set Morgen off-balance in his half-drunken state; but he recovered as best able, smiling and turning to regard her openly.<br/>
<br/>
"In a way ..." he answered, hearing Freya's existential rebuttal in the back of his mind. "An architect ... architecture <i>professor </i>now. I just started teaching at the Design School so I'm a recent arrival."<br/>
<br/>
"I see ~" she said wearing the faintest smirk. "Looks like yer friends left ye all alone?" She glanced over her shoulder to the bathrooms. "Thought maybe ye could use some company?"<br/>
<br/>
A wide smile grew on Morgen's masculine, handsome face. "I'd like that very much," he said. "I'm Morgen," he offered. <br/>
<br/>
"Saoirse," she told him, returning a wide smile that radiated unintentional seduction. Her eyes took on an active, engaging quality as if she'd found someone worth pursuing. She was just about to speak when the waitress returned with a platter holding three shots of clear-yellow fluid and a glass of water. "Cuttin' off so early in the evening?" Saoirse joked -- it was nearly ten p.m. which usually signaled the beginning of Irish times. <br/>
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"Well, I'm supposed to be headed to their place. They wanted my 'professional' opinion of their loft ..." Morgen left the end of his statement linger, implying that something <i>else </i>might be in the works. <br/>
<br/>
"Really?" she ask, her voice intrigued. Her eyes glanced down at his ring finger, taking note before taking one of his <i>parti </i>drawings and flipping it upside down. She gradually helped herself to one of Morgen's custom-designed pens and took her time writing. </span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><span style="font-size: 18px"><i>Saoirse ♡<br/>
(617) 988-3218</i></span></span><br/>​</div><br/><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">"If your friends come out here before I return, I want you to call me sometime," he told him. Saoirse leaned down and placed a lingering kiss upon Morgen's cheek, took one of the shots and downed it before turning with a impish smile to her table. She chatted with her friends for a moment before grabbing a leather clutch and striding with purpose to the women's bathroom. Morgen found himself dazed in the wake of watching another women retreat to the bathroom. His cheek tingled from the press of her lips, and he only then realized he had been holding his breath. Morgen looked at his ice water -- he wondered what had happened to amplify his 'Morgen Magic' to the point where the hottest woman in the bar just hit on HIM.</span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">.............................................................................................................................<br/>​</div><br/><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">When Saoirse entered the bathroom, no one could be seen in the common area. The Irish woman arrived after they'd shared their heated, erotic whispers but not before they began teasing one another with thigh-on-clit contact. The sound of kissing and groping -- along with clothes being straightened -- made it clear to Saoirse what was going on; the only question that remained was why.<br/>
<br/>
The redhead sighed, faced the mirror and placed her clutch on the counter and took out lipstick. She fluffed her hair, almost in unison with Freya as the artist exited the stall where Jourdan worked to compose her appearance. When Freya washed her hands, Saoirse returned the smile the other redhead offered. Saoirse's eyes, indeed, swept toward the ebony beauty as she exited the stall. It didn't take a rocket scientist to conclude that the two had been sharing a stall for romantic reasons; that's when the Irish gals keen eyes flicked to their ring fingers.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Huh</i>, <i>interesting</i>, she thought. Both wore wedding rings; that meant that both were married to other people and were out on the town cheating with Morgen as a companion ... or they were married to one another and Morgan was a third-wheel. Saoirse remained composed as she applied her lipstick, speaking quietly to both women. <br/>
<br/>
"Ye both look <span style="font-size: 12px">GAR</span>geous tonight," she complimented, accent thick. "Friends of Morgen's, right? Yer both lucky to have him in yer orbit, ya know -- he's a <i>fine </i>man. Just met him, and even <i>I</i> can tell that much." Still looking at herself in the mirror, Saoirse pursed her lips together to spread her lip application before glancing toward the two woman. "I was a wonderin' if he's available or ... <i>taken </i>for the evenin'?" she asked in her sweet lilt, forward without apology.</span>