They arrived at the bar, and whilst Lana made a few phone calls, he went inside, the baseball cap pulled over his forehead. She found him sitting in a booth against the back wall, half hidden from the rest of the bar. The place had a real vintage feel. Ageing baseball photographs of players gone by adorned the walls, set against dark wooden panels. An sixty something bar tender poured two glasses of something, and as Robert brought his glass to his lips, sharing a joke with the bar tender, Lana swooped in and intercepted the glass.
She brought it to her lips, the two men studying her with equally puzzled looks, until the penny dropped for Robert.
‘It’s sparkling water’, he said, coolly, as she set the glass back down. Indeed it was, and now his glass had the imprint of her lip gloss. She
