The God Particle Read Online Free
English.”
They sit there for a moment, not speaking in any language. Steve knows this isn’t a singles bar, and that the woman sitting beside him probably wants more than stimulating conversation, but he doesn’t want to do this. Doesn’t want to need to.
“You are maybe buying some champagne? So we can enjoy some talking?”
Steve could leave, sure, but then he’d have to venture into the rain again. “How much?”
From nowhere she produces a small card with a list of champagnes and prices. They begin at 180 francs and make gradual steps all the way to 500.
“This one is quite good,” she says, pointing to something at price point CHF 240. “Not having too much hangover.”
“What about that one?” he asks, pointing at the cheapest selection.
“Ooh, not so good. Make stomach hurt.”
“You sell champagne that makes my stomach hurt?”
The sparkle in her eyes fades a little with that comment, and the evaporating smile seems to acknowledge the weakness of her calculated sex appeal in the presence of a jaded American. Or perhaps she’s wondering how she’ll continue to pay the exorbitant rent on her one-room Zurich flat when every single customer only wants to buy the cheapest champagne. Either way, Steve, a little drunk now, decides to give her a reason to smile.
“I guess I’ll take this one,” he says, and points to the CHF 500 bottle.
“Very much!” she cries. “You are liking that one very much, Mr. American.”
She signals the bar, and the waitress brings the champagne almost immediately. It comes in ice with two slender glasses. The label is gold and green, the words on it in French. He doesn’t recognize the brand.
“What is your name, Mr. American?”
“Steve,” he says. “Steve Keeley.”
“Very nice to meet you, Steve. We are making a toast to Steve Keeley.”
He watches her lips against the rim of the glass, red and sensual, and catches just the briefest pink glimpse of her tongue.
“And your name?” he asks her.
“I am Anna.”
“Like the tennis—”
“No, no,” she interrupts with mock offense. “I am much prettier than her.”
Steve laughs, and Anna joins him. She puts her arm around his shoulder.
“Don’t you think so?”
He can smell her, light perfume on her neck, lipstick and champagne. Her fountain of brown hair tickles his cheek.
“You are much more beautiful than her,” he admits.
Generic pop music floats around them, something Steve doesn’t recognize. Another dancer takes the stage. He thinks there may be someone watching her from one of the other booths, but he can’t be sure, not with such murky interior lighting.
“You like the dancing girl?” Anna asks him. “More than me?”
“No. I just noticed there aren’t many customers here.”
“Da. Slow night. That is why Steve Keeley gets extra-special attention.”
The arm around his shoulder tightens, pulling him closer, and her other arm disappears beneath the table. She takes his hand and guides it between her legs.
“You seem to have forgotten your underwear,” he breathes. The alcohol is really working on him now.
“I forget nothing. Should we order more champagne?”
“Perhaps we should.”
He doesn’t notice any sort of communication between Anna and the waitress, but another bottle seems to instantly arrive.
“You have Visa?” Anna asks him. “The waitress would like to make sure payment is good.”
Steve finds his wallet and hands over his platinum card. At 350 dollars a bottle, he’s surprised they haven’t already asked for it. Anna seems pleased, though, because as the waitress fades into the darkness she opens her legs farther apart, allowing Steve more room for exploration.
Distantly he wonders where all the champagne is going, because the next time he looks, the bottle is nearly empty. He thinks he hears The Doors playing on the sound system. Anna’s hand is squeezing his dick, which is only sluggishly responding, and his fingers are slippery with
They sit there for a moment, not speaking in any language. Steve knows this isn’t a singles bar, and that the woman sitting beside him probably wants more than stimulating conversation, but he doesn’t want to do this. Doesn’t want to need to.
“You are maybe buying some champagne? So we can enjoy some talking?”
Steve could leave, sure, but then he’d have to venture into the rain again. “How much?”
From nowhere she produces a small card with a list of champagnes and prices. They begin at 180 francs and make gradual steps all the way to 500.
“This one is quite good,” she says, pointing to something at price point CHF 240. “Not having too much hangover.”
“What about that one?” he asks, pointing at the cheapest selection.
“Ooh, not so good. Make stomach hurt.”
“You sell champagne that makes my stomach hurt?”
The sparkle in her eyes fades a little with that comment, and the evaporating smile seems to acknowledge the weakness of her calculated sex appeal in the presence of a jaded American. Or perhaps she’s wondering how she’ll continue to pay the exorbitant rent on her one-room Zurich flat when every single customer only wants to buy the cheapest champagne. Either way, Steve, a little drunk now, decides to give her a reason to smile.
“I guess I’ll take this one,” he says, and points to the CHF 500 bottle.
“Very much!” she cries. “You are liking that one very much, Mr. American.”
She signals the bar, and the waitress brings the champagne almost immediately. It comes in ice with two slender glasses. The label is gold and green, the words on it in French. He doesn’t recognize the brand.
“What is your name, Mr. American?”
“Steve,” he says. “Steve Keeley.”
“Very nice to meet you, Steve. We are making a toast to Steve Keeley.”
He watches her lips against the rim of the glass, red and sensual, and catches just the briefest pink glimpse of her tongue.
“And your name?” he asks her.
“I am Anna.”
“Like the tennis—”
“No, no,” she interrupts with mock offense. “I am much prettier than her.”
Steve laughs, and Anna joins him. She puts her arm around his shoulder.
“Don’t you think so?”
He can smell her, light perfume on her neck, lipstick and champagne. Her fountain of brown hair tickles his cheek.
“You are much more beautiful than her,” he admits.
Generic pop music floats around them, something Steve doesn’t recognize. Another dancer takes the stage. He thinks there may be someone watching her from one of the other booths, but he can’t be sure, not with such murky interior lighting.
“You like the dancing girl?” Anna asks him. “More than me?”
“No. I just noticed there aren’t many customers here.”
“Da. Slow night. That is why Steve Keeley gets extra-special attention.”
The arm around his shoulder tightens, pulling him closer, and her other arm disappears beneath the table. She takes his hand and guides it between her legs.
“You seem to have forgotten your underwear,” he breathes. The alcohol is really working on him now.
“I forget nothing. Should we order more champagne?”
“Perhaps we should.”
He doesn’t notice any sort of communication between Anna and the waitress, but another bottle seems to instantly arrive.
“You have Visa?” Anna asks him. “The waitress would like to make sure payment is good.”
Steve finds his wallet and hands over his platinum card. At 350 dollars a bottle, he’s surprised they haven’t already asked for it. Anna seems pleased, though, because as the waitress fades into the darkness she opens her legs farther apart, allowing Steve more room for exploration.
Distantly he wonders where all the champagne is going, because the next time he looks, the bottle is nearly empty. He thinks he hears The Doors playing on the sound system. Anna’s hand is squeezing his dick, which is only sluggishly responding, and his fingers are slippery with
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