“She was wearing black leggings and a black sleeveless top. Muscle rippled under her smooth skin. She had hooked the heels of her laced half-boots over the rung of the barstool and she was drinking Rolling Rock from the bottle. “Hello, Mr. Abbott. I’m sorry about your friend.” I didn’t want to talk about Dicky Butler. So I said, “Thanks. He wasn’t exactly a friend. Sorry about your lake.” “It wasn’t my lake.” “I’ll bet it hasn’t made your boss any easier to live with.” She sh...rugged. “Can I buy you a cold one? I’m sort of celebrating. I just sold a house.” “Congratulations. Sure, I’d have one more. Thanks.” She had a faint accent. It sounded a little Brooklyn, but not quite. It had another softer sounding layer that I couldn’t place. “I’m going to have a burger, are you hungry?”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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