In the end, Bobbi and Harry decided to drive to the bar separately. In spite of Harry’s less-than-legal occupation, she found herself attracted to him. Maybe it was the accent, or maybe the fact that he just didn’t seem to care that she worked for the government, but everything about the man intrigued her.
The bar Bobbi had chosen for their rendezvous was tucked away in a hidden corner of New York City. While not necessarily a dive, it sure as hell wasn’t one of the swank places closer to the heart of the city. She slid onto a stool that gave her a good view of the rest of the bar and the door, ordered herself a rum and coke, and waited for Harry to show up.
Sliding into the bar felt like husking off a layer of his skin. The ancient and new sensation of doing something he had done time after time only in his newer life was like taking a drink from a childhood river. The scent of smoke lingering and the hum of conversation took him back.
The lone, startlingly attractive blonde sidled up to the bar was a sure sign she was waiting for him. He walked quietly, too quiet for the rising din to make his footsteps known, and the dark night outside cloaked his entrance. His palm flattened against the bar as he leaned back against it, with an easy smirk.
“Come here often?”