Happy hour. 15 minutes in. His friends. Not mine.
Ms. flirtation found her target, and it belonged to me.
It's one thing to smile with your eyes and flirt with your wit, and it's quite another to touch someone else's man.
While I stood closely by... I saw it happen.
She was intrigued by his style, namely the cute little buttons on his shirt. They were the kind that literally made a "snap" noise when closed... the kind that had a pearly outside and a metal enclosure that seemed to hold her attention much better than my evil stares from across the room.
Snap snap went the breast pocket buttons.
Snap snap went the first two collar buttons.
Snap snap went the next... and then the next.
I sauntered over, pointed to the lowest buttons on the shirt and simply said, "As long as you don't touch those two. Those are mine."
She giggled. I walked away. And then I spent the majority of the next hour or so flirting with my wit and smiling with my eyes.
Finally, he approached me and asked...
"Are you leaving with me... or with him?"
"Well it depends." I said.
"On what?" he asked.
"On whether or not you ever plan to wear that shirt again."
He laughed. Grabbed my hand tightly and we left.
In the end I guess I could only hope that his grasp was a better indication of our connection than those lousy little buttons.