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Brad Tomlin gazed at the martini on the rocks through murky eyes. It was his third. Or was it his fourth? He wasn’t sure, and what’s mare, he didn’t give a good fuck.
His gaze drifted up over the top of the glass to the blonde across the small table from him. Her large, full tits bulged underneath her tight blue sweater. His eyes wandered upward to the soft white skin of her slim neck, to her sensuous red lips and then to her soft blue eyes.
They stared silently at each other for a moment as Brad swirled the ice and the lone olive around in the bottom of his glass. She had been chattering on about something or other just a moment ago, but when she realized that Brad wasn’t listening to a word she said, she stopped abruptly in mid-sentence.
“I’m sorry, Angie,” Brad apologized. “What were you saying?”
“It doesn’t matter. I was just making conversation. What’s the matter, Brad, you look like you’re ready to have them stop the world so you can get off.”
He didn’t answer right away. His mind ran over the coincidental string of events that had brought them together in the dim, cozy little bar in the heart of Chicago’s banking district. Angie had been one of the things that Brad had noticed first when he had been assigned to supervise the tellers in the gleaming new First Union Bank building.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only. Note: This story is the same as catalog number EL-2004 in the original publications (a duplicate).