If they only knew the girl with the tattoo, like I do.

The bar was quickly filling up. The boys took their stations at the bar, drinks in hand, tapping their feet and moving their head to pulsing rhythm of the house music. The girls migrated to the dance floor, packs of three or four, dancing with each other seductively, putting on a show, all while pretending to ignore the row of men staring at them.

As he sipped his beer, he noticed her. Twisting and turning to the music, laughing with her girl friends. Her black pants clung to her long legs, only accentuated by the five inch high heels. Her hair flowed down her back, long blond locks, waving as she danced. The gold top she was wearing reflected the dim lights, making it hard to ignore her. Every eye in the bar was drawn to her, including his.

She felt his eyes, and turned to meet his glance. After making eye contact, she flashed him a sly smile and flicked her head around, continuing her dancing.

Her dancing followed the beat of the music, her hips keeping time with the bass. The faster it got, the more her shirt would ride up her back, but she acted as though she didn't notice- soon, it had crept up over her waist. She continued to dance, and the lights highlighted her exposed flesh, especially the small piece of a tattoo on her left side.

She glanced over her shoulder, to see if he was still watching. He was, and now he was moving closer.

Just as she wanted.

This post is in response to a prompt at Write on Edge: tattoos.