Free Dinner and a Movie by S.D. Grady

 
    Stop and Look Twice
     
    Liam rolled to a stop right behind the shiny, fat ass of a 2010 Chevy Camaro . Under the amber glow of the city, the maroon paint glistened. The taillights dulled as it pulled away when the light changed. Damn, he always wanted one of those—some hot little sports car, with a motor able to leave anybody in the dust. He revved his pale blue Volvo and grimaced. Maybe he didn’t drive a muscle car, but he could still dream.
    He pulled up by the Camaro at the next light. The blue circles of the dash glowed from the interior. The dark shadow of the driver, a woman, swayed back and forth. She flipped her hair in time to the music…his music, he realized. He spun the knob on his radio and let the thump and twang of Brad Paisley take the fantasy to the next level, her shoulders continuing to move with the rhythm.
    In his mind she would be tall, slim with plump cherry red lips. There would be no talking, just hard, fast sex on the hood of her car. Five inch heels and a tight leather skirt wouldn’t hurt, either.
    He shifted in his seat, adjusting his cock, until the magic popped in his brain. Who was he fooling? The driver wouldn’t be his dream girl. She would take a look at his athletic, 6’2” build, conservative haircut, tasteful suit of pin-striped black and peg him for money and her next sugar daddy. He loosened his grip on the wheel and sighed.
    Stifled, he rolled down his windows. The warm, summer breeze wafted into the car. He checked his mirrors and paused when he noticed five long fingers with nicely manicured nails flick a butt out the window of the Camaro . Slim and sexy…damn.
    Her elbow rested on the door while she played with curly, red-brown locks. A pretty chin, he allowed. And even from here he could see the generous swell of her breasts. She was tall and full of curves. Perhaps not so far from that dream girl, after all.
    The song ended and segued into something slow and mournful .
    She checked her mirror, giving Liam a better view of full cheeks and long lashes. Eye color? He chuckled. Why would he need to know? They were stopped at a light, it would change, and they would drive off into the sunset.
    She tossed her hair over her shoulder and caught his gaze. Liam smiled and so did she. Then she laughed. The phantom sound floated over the rumble of their engines and tore right through him; a deep, throaty chuckle. She pursed her lips, kissed her hand, and tossed it his way.
    The light changed to green. Liam sat in the dust. Her taillights vanished in the late evening traffic.
     
    * * * *
    Bernie stepped from her Camaro , clutching her white pocketbook and pulled down on the hem of her brown leather mini-skirt. She had to wiggle a bit to settle the loose-fitting white and rhinestone silk blouse on her shoulders. If she twitched too far one way, it slipped down her shoulder, pull it in the other direction and the deep valley of her cleavage screamed an invitation for men to dive into. She preferred something in between—a little tease, but not the whole plate on the buffet. Tonight was girl’s night out. First dinner here at Fredo’s , followed by dancing at Dusty’s Tavern. If she picked up a date along the way, great. If not, she’d survive. She always did.
    She tripped over a shallow pothole in the middle of the lot, stopped and reached down to pull the buckle tight on her ankle-high boots, with pointy toes and low heels—she left the cowgirl hat in the back seat. Her stomach growled. Her friend, Sheila, had been waiting almost an hour inside.
    A car horn blared.
    Irritated and late, Bernie flipped the driver off as she trotted toward the entrance. “Oh shit.” She stalled once again to open her pocketbook and peer inside.
    The horn honked again. A guy yelled, “Hey! Move it!”
    Damn. She’d left her wallet in the console. She turned to walk back to her car and stopped when she realized the pissed off driver sat behind the wheel of a pale blue Volvo—the one from