She held the key tightly in her hand and pressed the silver button – like a switchblade revealing, nervously tracing her fingers back and forth over the jagged edges of the firm steel. It felt good in her hand. Traffic wasn’t bad for a Friday night, but her mind was racing making it difficult to…
Pulling the heavy door open, the smell of queso and beer washed over her – and the sounds of some guy playing a guitar and singing beach tunes echoed from the back corner of the bar. He was rockin’ one of those Hawaiian shirts and working on his ponytail.
Scanning. Scanning. “Fuck – they better be here.” And then a familiar smile followed by a hand waiving her over to their table.
“You’re late. That’s gonna cost you,” he grinned.
“I’m not late. You were early. And besides,” she shot back, sliding her hand in the air from her shoulders to her waist “wasn’t it worth the wait?”
Their friends laughed as the waitress approached to bring the four of them upstairs. They grabbed their drinks and followed the woman. The booth was in the back – far enough to still hear the music, but not close enough to be annoyed by it. Perfect.