So I'm tending bar for Frank to pay him back for all the times he read slush for me, and I'm thinking I'll close early because the place is empty, when in walks this babe. She looks me up and down and I pretty much know what she's thinking. She's thinking, Hey, you're not Frank . . . not that I'm complaining, cowboy. She's thinking, Nice chops; heavy, but well-maintained, not out-of-control like some Welsh shepherd, more like a king woulda worn back when men were men and not pussies. She's thinking, I like a man who's comfortable enough in his own skin that he doesn't need to go to the gym and turn himself into some kind of pumped up, muscle-bound freak show, a man who appreciates good food and plenty of it.
She approaches the bar. Sexy walk. Looks at me. Probably thinking, What time do you get off, sailor? Probably thinking, Nice vest; a man in a vest is a man with class. A man worth undressing. All except the vest. I want to have sex tonight, with a man wearing nothing but a vest.
She flutters her big lashes at me. I've seen that look a thousand times from authors. I know what she's thinking; she 's thinking, Hey, handsome, why don't we empty the till and head for Tahiti? She's thinking, You got room in that pouty mouth for another tongue? She's thinking, You got "Muskrat Love" on the juke box, big boy?
She lays a key on the bar. Obviously her room key. She's thinking, Room 1412 at the Ritz Carlton. Let yourself in; I'll be waiting.
She says, "You know how to change a tire, fats? Blue Dodge, right outside. Spare's in the trunk. Pour me a tall one before you go."