They stood at the entrance of the roadhouse for a moment, noting the "please seat yourself" sign, surveying their options. Rodney Atkins was belting out "If Your Going Through Hell" at top volume on the jukebox. Good, Lorissa McComas thought, conversation will be difficult, but being overheard will be even tougher. The bar was full, but that wouldn't provide the privacy Lorissa wanted anyway. There were tables behind the pool tables, but too many people were playing for her taste. The tables near the entrance where they stood had too much traffic, and then she spotted a booth in the back corner and pointed it out to John. He nodded in agreement and Lorissa led the way over to it. John took the opportunity to admire the figure before him, encased in a red tank top and black mini-skirt, as he followed. Dark, curly hair, hourglass shape with just an unbelievable ass and legs that seemed to never end, her calves nicely sculpted by low-heel shoes. He wasn't certain what she had in mind, but the fact that every male in the place turned to watch their progress wasn't lost on him and he was thankful he wasn't in their shoes, wishing she was alone and trying to come up with some opener that would catch her attention. The booth was a wrap-around, with a U-shaped bench, and Lorissa McComas took the side that faced the room, So she can see people coming, John surmised.