Free Night Swimming by Laura Moore Page B

long propeller-like blades slicing through thick clouds of cigarette smoke, nor were the voices that could be heard an exotic mélange of foreign languages and accents.
    But those differences were superficial, of no consequence. The only thing that really mattered was that Sean understood exactly how Bogie felt when his eyes lit on Ingrid Bergman. That terrible mix of bitterness, longing, and fury eating away at him.
    He groaned again.
    At the sound, the two men sitting at the corner of the bar broke off their conversation, eyeing Sean curiously. Just as quickly, they dismissed him and returned to their avid inspection.
    “Must be lost or confused. Palm Beach is twenty-five miles north.”
    “Let’s be friendly and give her directions. How ’bout that, Ray?”
    “You frigging nuts? The only directions I’m giving her are to the slip where my houseboat’s moored.” He elbowed his companion. “Stop drooling, Frank. She’s coming this way.”
    Because of the Keel’s gloomy interior, Lily didn’t notice that he and Dave were at the bar until she was almost upon them. The second she did, her step faltered. She was doubtless debating whether to spin 180 degrees and march right out again.
    He should have known Lily would tough it out. After that initial hesitation, she strolled —it was the only word Sean could find that adequately described the confident sway of her hips—to the bar.
    Once there, her gaze flit over Sean and Dave with total disinterest, the kind of look one reserved for strangers— with whom one had no intention of ever becoming acquainted.
    “Tequila and lime, please,” she ordered quietly when Charlie approached.
    “Coming right up,” Charlie said with a nod. He set a shot glass and a tequila bottle in front of her. Disappearing through the swinging door that led to the kitchen, he returned shortly with a white porcelain saucer, lime quarters neatly arranged in a radiating pattern.
    Sean’s eyebrows rose. Lily was getting the royal treatment; most of the Rusted Keel’s patrons considered themselves lucky if they got their limes tossed into a plastic red Solo cup.
    Charlie poured a shotful. The bar fell eerily silent as Lily leaned forward. Holding the lime bracketed between index finger and thumb, she bit into its flesh, her teeth flashing white in the subdued lighting. She lifted the shot glass to her lips. With a quick backward toss, she downed its contents. Her eyes closed.
    Watching her, Sean imagined the fiery yellow liquor racing down her throat, setting her aglow from within. Involuntarily, his eyes traveled the sinuous contour of her profile and down the length of her neck. And descended further still.
    Gone was the short jacket she’d been wearing earlier. The top two buttons of her blouse were undone. The blouse, made of some kind of shimmery material, shifted bluish purple in the half light.
    Shadows and mysteries. The glimpse of Lily’s milky white skin exposed by the shirt’s plunging vee filled him with wanderlust, a need to explore until all her secrets were revealed. He moved restlessly on his stool.
    A solid thud of glass against wood resounded in the near-silent bar. Then Lily was laying a ten-dollar bill on the bar and heading toward the door. In the wake of her departure, male speculation frothed in bloated bubbles.
    Sean was already on his feet. He tossed a large tip on the bar. “Thanks again, Charlie. See you later, Dave.”
    “See you,” Dave echoed. With a glimmer of a smile, he nodded in the direction of the parking lot. “Catching a ride?”
    “That’s the idea.”
    “Good luck.”
    “Thanks. I’ll need it.”
    Sean had slipped his jacket off the back of the stool and was shrugging into it when one of the men seated at the corner spoke.
    “Hey, McDermott, what’s your opinion? Silicone for sure, huh?”
    Sean paused to glance their way. Ray and Frank were partners in a small sport-fishing business. He knew them vaguely. Now he wished he didn’t. He