“We should call it a night,” he said, scooping the meager handful of chips off the table and pocketing them.
“It’s too early,” she replied, adjusting her dress. It might have fit once, but not anymore. Imagination was no longer required. Some men liked that.
“Suit yourself,” he said, thumbing the scarred band on his ring finger.
“Fine,” she snapped, tugging at her top and relieving the strained fabric of more of its burden.
“Fine,” he agreed.
As he walked away, she pressed against the man on her other side. He slid a drink her way. She blew on his dice.