Bombshell

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“I’ll have a pint of Summit and a Cosmopolitan,” I said, with all the thumping music in the place I had to lean halfway across the bar just to give my drink order.

The bartender nodded, maybe gave a slight sigh, I wasn’t sure.

“That Cosmo for you?” a woman next to me asked then yelled “Two Summits,” across to the bartender.

She stood about five three, brown hair, glasses, very nice figure. She had on really tight little shorts, black hose patterned to look like slinky nylons and a garter belt.

“I look like the Cosmo type?”

“Yeah, I knew it as soon as I saw you. You’re probably a big Sex in the City fan. I’m Justine,” she said and held out her hand.

“Dev.”

Her eyes bored into me as I held her hand. The music fired up again, so loud we had to speak into each other’s ear. We were in danger of getting body slammed by a half dozen twenty-something girls jumping up and down behind us. They were shaking their hair, waving their hands over their heads. Screaming “woo, woo,” as they twirled around.

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