It wasn’t a hipster hotspot or a club on its off-hours, but rather a place the world had forgotten. The interior was done in dark woods and Formica that had seen a better time. The heavyset bartender currently watching some Spanish soap opera on the TV mounted in the corner looked like he hadn’t budged from his stool in thirty years.
Seth ordered a bottled water and took it into the corner booth. His shoes stuck to the tacky floor beneath the table. With a grimace, he shifted sideways, leaning his back against the wall, one leg propped up on the bench to keep from getting more of whatever lived down there stuck to his favorite loafers.
The angle also gave him the perfect view of both the front and back entrances, just in case Claire’s friend tried to surprise him by approaching him from behind. He’d sense her long before she got close, but he liked to meet a person’s eyes when they first met. That was the best way for both parties to get a true evaluation of the other.