She had already been approached twice in the first half-hour. One was at least a decade older, forty maybe. His breath made her skin crawl and his bod... was unpleasant, to say the least. The other was closer to her age, perhaps he was thirty too. Creepy and too eager, she thought. She ordered another drink and was considering making it her last. She remembered why she hated bars. “You don’t want the martinis here. They taste like paint-stripper,” a voice from next to her said. She shifted her. But there's only one bedroom and the love seat was too small for this guy to sleep on comfortably. Maybe there was a cot somewhere that I hadn't seen yet. And the bedroom was a loft, looking down into the bottom floor, there was no wall separating us. Sex was going to be on the sly, if at all. What the fuck?! "I don't understand," I said finally. "Where's he going to sleep?" "Oh, Honey," she chuckled. "I love you, but sometimes you're a bit slow." She got on her tip-toes and kissed him. "He's. More

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