"I'm just going to grab this," he said, leaning into her. He grabbed a cloth that the bartender had being using to dry the wet residue from beer bottles and spills from tipsy patrons. Though the room was relatively loud, he thought he heard her breathe in. A sweet, flowery scent wafted into his nose, then he turned towards her. "That's a wonderful perfume," he said. "Thank you, she demurred. "It's my favorite." "I'm just going to tidy up our space at the bar a bit." He wiped down the area in front of both of them. "Wouldn't want you to get anything on your blouse." He laid the cloth back down, just below the bar's edge and when he leaned back against the stool, his hand brushed along her bare thigh. "My apologies," he said. "I think it was on purpose," she said. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe not." "I think a guy tried that kind of move on me back in the 80s when my girlfriends and me when to Lauderdale for spring break." "Did it work?" "Not with that guy," she said. "So you're saying I may be, or not be, using moves from some drunken frat boy thirty years ago?"
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