’ She cocked her head and smiled broadly. Full pouty lips outlined her straight white teeth. Becka was pretty woman, I decided. ‘Nobody complains ...o the owners?’ Becka sighed heavily. ‘That’s the owner’s son under table three.’ She flicked her head towards the man as two busboys arrived to lug his limp body into the kitchen. The doors swung shut again before I piped up with another question. ‘He’s not… cooking my breakfast… is he?’ Becka laughed at that and slid into the booth across the table. An odd feeling of comfort, like I hadn't really felt before and seemed to raise as many questions at it did calm some other concerns. But as he finished fumbling with the lock and swung the door open, I got right back into the mood and wasted no time stepping in with him. The interior was a typically intimate little bar setting, not unlike expected; dimly lit, a few tables, a bar, a pool table, and a small dance area in front of a tiny stage. The smell of smoke lingered in the air from the. More

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