She waited patiently at the bar. With manicured nails, she caressed her blade of misfortune as it whispered release from her jacket pocket.
Soon, she told herself, soon. He's almost ready. She gently drank the last of her wine and arched her back just right.
He sipped his scotch and rattled the ice around. He enjoyed the tapping as the ice cubes rapped against the glass. It had been a long day at the office, but nothing a few swigs couldn't cure. Then he noticed the sexy young thing on the other end of the bar; she looked his way as he made his best move.
"Can I buy you a drink?" He asked, confident flirtation exuded from his manly, corporate-like repose.
"Sure, but I'd rather go for a walk." She smiled and matched his flirtation as the excitement of release ebbed up from her toes. Her blade of misfortune ached for a starched, tie encompassed collar. He was ready.
Molly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw.