She told him that she needed far more alcohol in her system before she would sing her own stuff. He seemed to catch on, offering to give her more and she rolled her eyes with a scoff. "Bourbon, shots...you'll need a lot." He'd have to loosen her up in the best yet worst way possible. Those songs were a window into her soul, into a past that she rarely spoke of. For him to hear those songs, he'd have to mean more to her than just a guy at the bar. But she didn't want to share that secret. She didn't want to let him in. It was easier to keep him at an arm's length. It was safer that way.
Changing the topic of conversation onto him was the easiest and most effective way to get him off a trail of conversation that would do nothing but open up old wounds, ones that were festering and ready to break open.
She asked him what his type was, curious what made him tick. His answer was meant to be a joke and she rolled her eyes. "I guess I'm off the table then, huh?" There was a part of her that had hoped he might be her ticket. His money could do wonders for her. He had the influence to get her farther. She hated the idea of using him, but what choice did she have? Her funds were running low and her hope even lower. "...because I like riddles." She liked figuring him out. At least tonight had been fun, even if it wouldn't last beyond this booth.
She finished off the glass of bourbon before she slid from the booth. "I guess I'll let you look for someone more suitable." She took one step away and wobbled. One hand steadied herself on the booth, the other placed on her head as the blood ran south. "Damn that's some good bourbon." ...and she would pay for in the morning, she was sure of it.