Chapter 3: The Roadside Bar

David left just after three on Friday. He had a men’s prayer breakfast the next morning at a church forty minutes away and had been invited to stay overnight with the host pastor. Rachel stood at the kitchen window and watched his car turn the corner. She waited ten full minutes, then changed.

She chose a tight black dress that ended high on her thighs and a pair of black heels. No bra. No panties. The dress clung to her breasts and hips and left most of her legs bare. She checked herself in the full-length mirror, turned once, and smiled at the way the fabric pulled across her ass when she moved. Then she grabbed her keys and drove to the roadside bar she had passed dozens of times but never entered.

The place was half full when she walked in. Country music played low from the speakers. The air smelled of beer, fried food, and old wood. She took a stool at the far end of the bar where the light was dimmer and ordered a whiskey. The bartender set it in front of her without comment. Rachel crossed her legs slowly. The dress rode up. She felt the cool air against the bare skin between her thighs and shifted just enough to feel it more.

A man in his late twenties sat two stools away. Short brown hair, work-roughened hands, a plain T-shirt and jeans. He glanced at her once, then again. When she met his eyes and held them, he moved closer.

“Derek,” he said.

“Rachel.” She let her gaze drop to his hands, then back to his face. “My husband’s out of town until tomorrow afternoon. I’m not looking for small talk.”