She strolled up to the bar and planted a firm-yet-sexy pump-encased foot down on the rail. The bartender looked at her and started pulling out little frilly umbrellas and Malibu and speared slices of pineapple to make some kind of girl drink, but she held up her hand. “A whiskey,” she said, her voice low in her throat. “Neat.”
Behind her the pool table exploded. Every man in the bar immediately grew a beard. The jukebox made a record-scratching sound, even though it was an mp3-playing jukebox.
Her lawyer partner was there too. “Buy you a drink?” he asked.
“I can’t be bought,” she said. Later, after they did it, she slipped out of bed and briskly put on her clothes.
“You’re leaving?” he asked, full of feelings.
“Sorry, babe,” she said, turning to leave. “You knew what this was.” She threw a thong at him, to remember her by. It was totally awesome, the way he wanted to be her boyfriend but she was too busy and cool to care. “Thanks for all the doing it. But I have to go win a karate tournament.”