Pretty girl at the end of the bar ignored her drink, stared at nothing. Beefy boys circled, convinced she’d fall for a square jaw, sculpted muscle, carefully tousled hair – young wolves sniffing around skittish prey.
“Slim chance,” I muttered to amber liquid, praying tonight I could get hammered and forget. Slim chance of that, too.
“Come on, baby.”
“I’ll buy you another drink.”
“Aren’t you in my psych class?”
“Too good for us?”
“I know where you live.”
She smiled. “Lived. Past tense. Let’s go.”
Drink forgotten, I followed them to the alley and watched her feed.