
From my next novel . . . in a love song.
From Chapter 1
“Refills, please.” He kept his voice level in spite of the noise, not wanting to appear as shouting his instructions. She hadn’t seen him until then, and the feathers felt full and mighty fine when she looked into his eyes because he caught the fleeting surprise in hers which he was sure ended in a blush concealed by the low lights of the bar.
“Yes, sir.” She emphasized the “sir” and gave him a sideways smile, fully recovering from her emotional lapse at what he assumed—or rather—hoped was a pleasant view for her. She filled the two pitchers, and he paid for them with a $50 tip. She started to protest, but with a slight tilt of his head he stared her into submission. She pushed it into her black jeans’ pocket, a bit flustered.
“Thank you,” he said and walked back to the table full of raucous high-fiving guys beginning to feel their beer. After he sat down to a couple of good-natured shoulder shoves, he leaned back, tipping his chair, to catch her watching him. It felt good to be a man at that moment. He gave her a subtle smile before she turned away.
“Will you look at that?” The words were delivered in slow motion as the vintage jukebox belted out the old Rolling Stones tune “Honky Tonk Woman”. The stoutly built and curly blonde-headed guy named Keith who sat next to him on his right fairly panted as three young women entered the bar with a lot of exposed legs perched on spindly heels and possibly even more revealed breasts. Heads turned at their table and at a few others occupied by male patrons eager to share in the view.
“Never seen them here before,” Dave on his left drawled, his eyes transfixed on the laughing girls who were well aware of the attention they’d garnered. They meandered their way to the bar, taking in the stares, bending their heads toward each other in secret summations and covert giggling.
He looked around his table and smirked at the inebriated men who’d been hooked and landed like a bunch of hungry fish. His eyes searched for the gal he’d admired earlier. He watched her approach the newly arrived women at the bar, seeming to hunt inside herself for a pleasant expression. Joining her to wait on them was the bartender, a guy he figured to be near his age and clearly anxious to assist these new customers.
The conversation at the table descended into the discussion of the size of body parts and what they hoped to do with theirs. It was time for him to go, so he got up to head to the rest room before saying goodnight to the boys and wishing them a good weekend. They made a big show of wanting him to stay, but he kidded them about how hangin’ out with an old guy might cramp their style. They guffawed and a couple of them chided him with a toast and a “’Night, Gramps” knowing he was only three to six years older than most of them.
At the door, he looked one last time toward the bar and found her eyes on him. He smiled at her and walked out.
Father, any good thing I do or write is all you. Help me to be the one you designed me to be. Always desperate for you and deeply thankful which is never enough for all you've done for and given to me. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.