Polly lowered her green beer to the bar and felt something bump her elbow. She turned to see...nothing but the same St. Pat's Day crowd that had been jostling her all night.
Verne knew if he couldn't get the woman's attention, he'd never win the bet. "Down here!" he yelled, but she could barely hear him.
She glanced around, bewildered, not noticing the way her lush locks bounced on her shoulders in sultry allure. Who could have said that? she thought. "Who said that?" Polly asked the thin air, then the thick air, just to be safe.
The bartender set pretzels beside the voluptuous blonde who'd nursed the same green beer all night. She'd been stood up--his lucky day. "Not me."
Verne hopped onto a barstool and chomped a pretzel, smiling at his mark.
Polly hadn't noticed him before, and she'd been staring at every man who came into the bar. Maybe the owners had hired him for the celebration. He was wearing of the green.
"Hi there," he said with an Irish accent, though he was faking it.
"Hello." Uh-oh. If Verne was her blind date, she was going to kill her sister.
"Can I interest you in a bite?" Verne asked the woman, trying not to laugh.
"What?" Polly cupped her hand around her ear to hear him better.
"Can I INTEREST you in a BITE!"
"He asked if you want a bite." Feeling protective, Colt gave Verne the stink eye. He knew that gang and they were never up to any good. She didn't deserve that.
"A bite of what?" they both said, curious. Then their eyes metand...locked.
"A bite of me," Verne yelled, "because I'm magically delicious!"
He was also fifty bucks richer, even if the bartender got the girl.