Long Island Iced Tea

"Long Island Iced Tea," I tell him.

He relays the order to the bartender.

He steeples his fingers as he looks at me out of the corner of his eyes before finally deciding to half turn so he can see me better.

I smell him right away, the smell of unwashed nerd who blacks out all his windows so he doesn't have to be distracted by sunlight while he's busy playing games. But he is buying me a drink and I want to give him some kind of reward, so I bend over enough that my breasts surge and strain the front of my dress. His glance slips down to my deep press of cleavage, and stays there.

The bartender returns with my drink.