Betty, an old flame, sat between them trying to ignite a spark that had long since turned to ash.
Then she walled into the bar...
Blond hair, black dress, and Stilettos to match.
Her manner shy, yet steadfast.
Coming up behind him with a voice sultry and low, she said, "Is this seat taken?"
He swiveled his bar stool at the sound of her voice. There he sat, drinking her in; drowning, intoxicated, in her brown eyes.
His breath caught in his throat as he stuttered, "Ha...have a seat, Snookums..."
She looked away from him just long enough to reply, "Martini; two olives, dry."
"On second thought," he said; taking the glass from her hand, "There's something I 'd rather do..."
Her fingers now entwined with his, she slid off her stool as he pulled her into a dance.
Turning to Betty Mike remarked, "Looks like your 'bunkie' has found his soul mate as he watched Angela's hips rhythmically align with those of the former second baseman.
"Tell me about it," she said, aghast.
The Martini and the beer bottle sat side by side, untouched.