The boat's roof was hot enough to cook shrimp and the interior was sweaty and stuffy. He reached into the mini-cooler by his feet and grabbed a soda f...om the rapidly-melting pile of ice. He rubbed the chilled, wet metal over the dark skin of his forehead and ran his wet fingers across his close buzz cut in a desperate attempt to cool off. There was a rustle of ice as Mark Peterson, seated on the bench across from him, reached over and grabbed a bottle of beer from the cooler. David cleared. They’d connected for a moment and for once she didn’t regret those modern dance and ballet lessons her second or third step-mother had forced her to take. Bree performed for her, and surprise, there was even a smattering of applause from all the horny ladies awaiting the return of the imitating Chipmunks. Bree walked backstage and her boss handed her a drink tray. She went out to hustle drinks and maybe a lap dance from some horny husband. Maybe a few trips to the alley too. She had rent to pay. More

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