"At the end of the day you have to sit back and admit to yourself... she meant nothing."
Linc abruptly looked up from the shot on the bar counter, searching for the owner of the words that dared to interfere with his self-inflicted misery. The only person in the bar, besides the biker wannabe bartender, was a bombshell blond. Her legs looked like they could go for miles, and her face reminded him of Marilyn Monroe. "Who asked you?"
"No one. But you're hunched shoulders and 2-day growth scream woman issues," she said easing herself up onto the bar stool next to him. He couldn't help but look down to see if her heels matched the tight, banana colored dress that hugged all the right places, they did.
"And if she meant something you wouldn't be here drowning your sorrows in-" she paused leaning close to sniff him, "cheap whiskey. You'd be buying roses and throwing yourself at her feet to take you back."
Her words were like honey pouring out of a bottle onto his sour dough biscuit demeanor. Linc wasn't in the mood to let'em soften him. "Shows what you know."
The bombshell straightened. Her lips curved in a sly smile. "Well," she said breathily, "I do know the difference between 'your' and 'you're', and 'blond' and 'blonde'. And to hyphenate multiple-word adjectives. And when to use a semicolon instead of a comma."
From a nearly invisible pocket in her tight yellow dress, she somehow produced a business card, which she slid face down across the bar. He picked it up and looked at it.
Freelance Copy Editor
He slipped the card into his back pocket. Apparently this night wouldn't be a total waste after all.
Opening: Linda Graf.....Continuation: Zachary Gole