The Pick-Up

Hannah studied the man at the bar. Pouty lips. Chisled cheekbones. Spiky blond hair. He would be hers.

He spotted her. “Buy you a drink?”

Bottles of wine shared. Hannah liked his knowledge about cloud busting. John liked Hannah’s Shakira hips.

“Go back to my place?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, hot, bothered.

Electricity zinged. A tongue-lashing kiss inside the dark house. More fervent ones as they tangoed in rapture to the bedroom.

“Is that a dead body on the couch?” John asked.

Hannah shrieked.

“It’s my ex-boyfriend,” she gasped.

Hannah grabbed the phone. John inched toward the front door.