We set up a date for Friday. I was nervous for another week. Completely distracted, too. There were two days at work when my cash drawer didn't add up to what I was supposed to at the end of the day. I expected to be in deep trouble. Instead my manager, Helen, assumed I was still shaken up from the robbery. She pulled me into her office for a meeting.
"Are you doing okay, Luke?"
"I'm doing fine. Is it because of the money?"
"No, it's not the money. Don't worry about that. I just want to make sure that everything is okay with you. You know, you didn't have to come back to work so soon," Helen said.
I almost laughed in her face. She was concerned that I was absent minded because of the robbery; that I had been traumatized. Not only was I not traumatized, I was actually going on a date with the criminal herself.
"No. I needed to get back to work. I think I would go insane if I had to stay at home."
"I understand, Luke. I just want you to know that if you do have any problems then be sure to let me know. We'll take care of you."
"Thank you."
Friday arrived. I took a half-day because I was so anxious. Helen was more than happy to grant me the time off. She thought that her talk with me had worked and I realized I should take a day. I shouldn't have. I spent the rest of the day pacing my apartment until it was time to drive over to pick her up.
She had a condo in downtown Paradiso. This was a much fancier area of the city than I was used to. I couldn't even begin to imagine how much she paid to live there. I told the doorman who I was there to see and he called up.
Beth stepped out of the elevator wearing a tight blue flannel top and even tighter jeans. She didn't have her gun belt on, but still wore her black boots and hat. I realized then that she was one of those villains who didn't have a clear distinction between her costumed life and her civilian one. It wasn't as bad as someone like that loser the Arctic Cooler who was constantly getting picked up because he always wore a giant parka. That tended to draw attention in a city which rarely dropped below seventy degrees. Lots of people wore cowboy gear in the real world.
Well, enough that it wasn't as noticeable as a snowsuit.
All I had to do was avoid being seen with her by one of my co-workers. The chance of that seemed unlikely since Beth told me we were going to a country-western bar near the outskirts of town. I turned red when I realized I should have asked what we were doing ahead of time. I was wearing a polo shirt and khakis. She laughed and told me it would be fine as long as I un-tucked my shirt.
It didn't turn out to be fine when she saw my car.
"This is what you drive?" she asked.
"It's a good car. I get good gas mileage."
"That ain't exactly impressive. I can't be seen in this. I gotta' reputation. I don't even know what you call this kind of car."
"It's a Ford Taurus, so..."
"They wasted a perfectly good name on this shitbox. What a shame."
I was worried that my choice in economical vehicles ended the date prematurely.
Instead she told me to wait. Five minutes later she pulled up in a bright blue pickup truck. I had to hoist myself up inside of it. It wasn't nearly as large as the one she used to rob the bank, but still huge. From my vantage we towered over all the other cars on the freeway. The only people who could see into the cab were truck drivers. I got more than a few knowing nods from them once they saw who was driving.
She had her radio tuned to the country station. Not really my style. Johnny Cash was about the closest I got to liking country. Conversation was stilted, from my end at least. She asked a few questions about my job. The answers weren't really that thrilling. My world was pretty mundane. The only exciting thing that ever happened there was when she robbed us. And she already knew all about that.
I was interested in what she did, but hesitant to ask. I was afraid she would actually answer me truthfully. Going on a date with a bank robber was already bad enough. I didn't need to know the details of her criminal life. I especially didn't want her to start talking about the killing she'd done.
Except I knew it didn't matter anyway. My libido was doing the driving. This woman was hot and wanted me. It was exhilarating and intoxicating. That she was a criminal, that she should be in jail, that she pointed a gun at my head didn't matter.
We pulled into the dirt parking lot of the bar. It was filled with other pickup trucks, none quite as large as hers. Parked along the side were a few semi-trucks. Near the entrance was a large line of motorcycles. Their owners stood near them smoking cigarettes.
I didn't want to leave the truck. I felt like a jackass the way I was dressed. I didn't own cowboy boots or a hat, but I could've at least worn my jeans and a Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt.
Beth sensed my apprehension. She rested her cool hand on mine.
"Don't worry. It'll be fine. You're with me, nobody'll care. We'll get a few drinks in ya' and ya'll be okay. Besides, I put a gun to your head, what the fuck do you care about danger?"
She slapped my hand then hopped out of the truck. She started walking towards the entrance, seemingly not caring if I was following or not.
She was right. What the fuck did I care? Nothing anyone did to me in there would be worse than what Beth already put me through. So what if I was out of my element? At the bank I had to deal with odd people all the time. Here was a bar full of them. I could manage.
I jumped out of the truck and caught up with her. Her ass swayed alluringly as she walked. I slowed a bit before I fully caught up just so I could enjoy it a bit. When I was by her side she entwined her fingers through mine.
I didn't really know what I fully expected inside the bar. I guess I thought it would be like all those bars in cowboy movies or something like Roadhouse: some place filled with smoke and swearing. As I opened the door for her I expected to hear breaking glass followed by a scream then a fight.
Instead it was like most of the bars in the city except filled with more flannel. There was a band on stage playing a pretty rocking tune while people danced. Pool tables were lined up to one side and all completely full. People were talking and laughing and enjoying themselves. Nobody even seemed to notice I wasn't dressed like anybody else.
Beth found us a spot by the pool tables. She wanted to play and was waiting like a vulture for someone to vacate. She couldn't leave, but was impatient for beer so she sent me to the bar instead of waiting for the waitress.
I forgot to ask what she wanted, but it turned out not to matter. There were only two options on tap: regular and light. I ordered a pint of each thinking that I would drink whichever one she didn't want. The bartender convinced me it was a better deal to order a pitcher of each rather than a pint. I looked around and saw that most everybody else was drinking straight from their own pitchers instead of glasses. I decided to go with the crowd.
When I returned to the table Beth's eyes lit up.
"Hell, yeah, ya' got my favorite!" She snatched one of the pitchers from my hands and proceeded to chug it down.
"You don't even know what I ordered," I said.
She lowered the now half-empty pitcher, belched loudly and said, "Sure I do. It's my favorite: cold an' free. Now ya' should get to drinking. You're a bit behind."
We clinked pitchers and started drinking. I swore to myself that I wasn't going to wuss out and be the first to stop. I gulped down the cold beer until my throat started burning and my eyes watered. I closed my eyes and kept going until my mouth filled with foam. I choked on it, only just managing to keep it down.
Beth laughed. I grabbed up a handful of napkins to wipe off my chin.
"Looks like it's my shout. Rack 'em up before I get back." She pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the now open pool table.
She walked away and I fed quarters into the table. By the time I was done racking the balls she returned with two more pitchers. This time we drank slower. She didn't force me to keep up with her. Still, as we played, I noticed she was drinking quicker than me. I wanted to keep up with her, show that I was cool, but my head was already swimming. I didn't want to become shit show drunk around her. I was sure if I ended up running to the bathroom to throw up she wouldn't stick around to hold my hair.
"This really isn't your game, is it?" I asked after she missed her third shot completely, sinking the cue ball into a pocket without hitting anything else. She wasn't drunk. If I hadn't seen her down all that beer I would've sworn on a Bible she was stone sober. She wasn't stumbling around the table, aimlessly striking at the balls. She took her time to carefully line up what looked to be sure shots...then completely missed them.
"Shut up. I just like playing. Your shot."
I retrieved the ball from the return and set it on the table. I managed to sink two shots in a row. Beth stuck her lip out in a pout trying hard to stifle a grin.
As I was bending over to line up an easy shot she moved behind me. I didn't notice at first because I was concentrating. The moment I pulled back my stick to make a shot she grabbed my ass. I missed the cue ball, running the tip of my stick down the felt and leaving a blue streak.
"That has to be cheating," I said.
"My shot."
"I didn't know we were allowed to molest the other player."
"Maybe you shoulda' tried it earlier."
She shouldered her way in front of me, pressing her back in close. She smelled nice. Some sort of light flowery perfume with a bit of hay underneath. She bent over to take her shot, effectively rubbing herself against me.
The blood rushed to my face. I looked around to see if anyone noticed. Of course they could, but we were surrounded by people who were mostly ignoring us. They huddled around tables, talking, other guys were engrossed in their own pool games. There were even other couples making out so I didn't know why I was so concerned.
There was only one person really paying attention to us. It was some drunk guy standing in line for the bathroom. He had a sloppy grin on his face and raised his pitcher in a toast to me. I gave him a thumbs up then returned focus to my situation.
Beth was taking an awfully long time lining up her shot. Even dulled by alcohol, I couldn't help but stir as she ground up against me. If she kept going I was worried I wouldn't be able to control myself. I wasn't looking forward to standing in line with drunk cowboys with an obvious stain on my khakis. I moved back a little, reaching for my drink as an excuse. The newly made space gave me the opportunity to slap her ass.
It was a bit harder than I meant to. People heard the crack, a few looked our way. She took any focus I might have drawn by messing up her shot so bad that the cue ball bounced off the table and rolled away. I moved to retrieve it, but a helpful cowboy was already returning it.
As I placed it back on the table Beth smiled at me and said, "Now that's what I'm talking about!"
We played a few more games of pool before we got bored. By then it had devolved from pool to outright flirting. We let some other people have the table and found a spot closer to the stage. With the loud music we couldn't really talk except for shouts of "Are you having fun?!" Eventually Beth grew restless over her inactivity and dragged me by the hand onto the dance floor. I felt the beer working through my system, but I wasn't nearly drunk enough to dance.
I sort of got the hang of it after a while. There was no real organization to it. Mostly just hopping around, linking arms occasionally, some stomping. The more adventurous types spun their girls out then pulled them back in like they were swing dancers. I didn't try any of that for fear of tossing Beth into the crowd. Judging by the way she pressed herself against me she had no intention of putting any space between us.
We returned to our table once the line-dancing started up. That was way too organized for either of us to join in. I got in a quick sip of beer before she made her move. She grabbed me by the collar, pulling me in for a couple of quick pecks. That turned into a deep, passionate kiss that made us indistinguishable from the other shameless couples in the bar. I didn't care who gawked.
On the drive back to her condo we sat in silence, grinning at each other every so often. I had a good feeling about where things were headed. I only hoped I hadn't drank so much that I would be useless. I didn't feel drunk. That was the sex-anticipation adrenaline flooding my system, making me think I was fine.
She pulled into the parking garage underneath her building, but made no move to get out. Instead she unbuckled her seatbelt, leaned over and started kissing me again. I didn't like that we were still vaguely in public. Making out with a hot woman helped me get over that reservation pretty quick.
As we kissed she moved her hand between my legs and started rubbing me through my pants. Then she deftly unbuckled my belt and unzipped my fly. My eyes shot open. She was determined to finish what she started at the bank. I looked around as much as I could to see if anyone could see us. The height of the truck, along with the darkness, guaranteed that no one could see us if they walked by. Still there had to be a security camera somewhere that could.
I tried to pull away, but she leaned in closer, smothering anything I had to say with her mouth. She drew my tongue into her mouth and bit down on it. Hard enough to cause pain, not enough to break the skin.
She increased the pace of her stroking. Between her biting me and my paranoia that someone would see us I didn't realize how close I was to finishing. I wasn't able to tell her to slow down or stop. I couldn't move away from her. I came in her hand. I spurted more times than I thought physically possible. I felt the liquid heat spread through my pants. That was when she pulled away from me. She reached into an old fast food bag on the floor and pulled out a few napkins to clean her hand off.
"I figured I would at least finish what I started last week. That was fun!" she said.
She kissed me goodnight in front of the elevator, leaving me to scurry out of the garage to my car, trying not to be seen by anyone. I didn't have anything to cover the huge wet spot in my pants.
Halfway home my cell phone chirped that I had a text message. I nearly drove off the road from it. It was a photo from Beth. It was mirror shot of her. Her pants were pulled down, her shirt pulled up, exposing a matching set of power blue underwear. Her free hand was slightly reaching into the waistband of her panties. The message underneath read Thinking of u ;)
