I could tell by the swarms of excited girls, by the mass of big, burly security guys roaming around and of course by the way he kept looking over at me every chance he got.
He wasn’t obvious, by any means, but it still made me feel like my body was being set on fire and my throat was constricting in on itself, every time I felt his drunken glare focus on me.
I pretended not to notice. Pretended that my feet didn’t feel like heavy slabs of concrete weighing me in place every time I saw him out of the corner of my eye get up from his booth and strut around. Pretended like I didn’t feel maybe a slight hint of jealousy when I would watch him over the rim of my glass as he laughed with some other random girl at the bar.