A Good Little Girl Like You (A Sample)

of crossed legs. Long, delicate fingers played with an empty

glass. As he walked by, he noticed that her facial expression

never changed, an opaque mask that hid her thoughts. He

kept on walking to the other end of the bar, acting

disinterested.

O.E. turned and watched her for a few minutes, hoping

to catch her eye or figure out whether she was available. But

she just sat there barely moving. Her elbows were on the

bar, her gaze studiously avoiding anyone or anything. The

seat on her left was vacant and the person on her right

ignored her-a beautiful woman, all alone in a crowded

nightclub. Inconceivable.

O.E. wandered back and made his play. "You're lost in

thought. What's on your mind?"

She turned quickly and looked at him with big eyes.

"You shouldn't be talking to me." Was that fear he saw?

"Why not? You seem very serious, very beautiful, and

very much like someone I'd enjoy talking to. What's

bothering you?"

She belted out a single laugh and looked at him

nervously. "Well, I'll give you credit for noticing my

discomfort. But you lose all of those points, and even more,

for trying to help." She looked around briefly, and her eyes

flashed. Then she quickly dropped her head and looked

away from O.E. "Quick, get out of here! He's coming back."

"A jealous boyfriend?" That was no surprise, especially

from a woman who looked like every man's wet dream. But

boyfriends come and boyfriends go. O.E. knew he could

compete with the best of them and relished the chance to

try.

No need to panic, my dear. O.E. wasn't afraid-after all,

he was just talking to her. If she wasn't available, perhaps

she had some friends. Here in this anonymous club, he

could grow a new network of acquaintances and find his

partner for Malibu. With a smile on his face, O.E. turned

casually to begin his new life with people who had never

heard of O.E. Orton.

Expecting to see her boyfriend's face, O.E. was

momentarily confused to find his field of view blocked by a

huge fist flying toward him. Before he could react, the fist

grew even larger and connected solidly with his jaw. He

heard a crunching sound and felt pain rip through his head

as he staggered backward. Grabbing onto a chair for

support, O.E. looked up at the all-beef boyfriend, now

scowling at his competition.

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

O.E. tried to answer, but his jaw hurt so much that he

could only grunt.

The bartender ran over and started to lecture the angry