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Marty gives her something unexpected.

Of course they were in the Navy. But then his eyes were rolling for another reason. The woman had her hand on his crotch.

"Sure, I'm Popeye One and he's Popeye Two," Chuck answered for them, moving over a stool so that she could perch between them.

"A drink for the lady. Another one of whatever she was drinking," Ryan croaked to the bartender, who appeared with a frozen daiquiri within a few minutes, as both men leaned into their elbows on the bar top and gave their full attention to the B-Girl. Each of them had a hand low on her hip on either side. She didn't bat an eyelash.

She had eyelashes to bat too. She was a mix of white and black, which on her had arrived at high cheek bones, a smooth light-chocolate skin tone, a lovely oval face, and long, silky black hair. She kept her hands moving above the bar top and touching each of the guys here and there to make them want to hyperventilate. The long, scarlet fingernails matched the color on her lips. Her eye shadow was a luminous deep violet, with sparkles in it, which brought out the same color and quality of her pupils.

"You two stick together like glue?" she asked. It was evident to all three of them that she was fishing on whether this was leading up to something in sequence or a threesome.

"Usually," Chuck answered. "Do you mind?"

"Not really," she answered, "but maybe one's enough for starters."

When he delivered the drink, the bartender said, "This here's Tracy. I think you should-"

But whatever he might have said was cut off by Tracy cupping Chuck's chin, lightly brushing the tips of her fingernails at the soft tissue of his throat, while she came in for a kiss. A rumbling sound came up from the depths of his belly, and his hand went down to her plump butt cheek and squeezed. Ryan's did the same when Tracy turned her head and gave him a kiss, giving them equal time.

"Guess this is my lucky day," she said when she came up for air. "Two sailor hunks out on a snowy night like this."

"Speaking of snow . . ." Ryan said.

"The night's for partying," Chuck continued. "We're new in Philly. You know where we can get some? To share, of course."

"Of course," Tracy said, drawing their attention to three black thugs sitting at a table in the back corner of the bar. "A couple of Franklins should get enough to give you two courage to handle little ole me. I can do the deal."

"Don't need no courage to take you on girl," Chuck said.

"But it would make it more fun," Ryan added.

They watched as Tracy went to the back corner of the bar and came back with five packets of white powder.

Ryan and Chuck each had already taken out an extra twenty over what would be needed for the drinks and a generous tip and laid the bills on the bar top.

"Who's first, or were you still thinkin'-?"

"Ryan can be first," Chuck said, with a smile. "Rank takes privilege and smaller to larger."

"Fuck you," Ryan said. But he was smiling-they bantered like this often, and truth was truth anyway-and didn't turn down the offer. He eagerly followed Tracy through the beaded curtain, a hand cupping one of her butt cheeks.

* * * *

Ryan was sitting, Jumper off, on a vinyl loveseat in a small room behind the bar. There was a single bed against the other wall, in case they needed that. His legs were spread and Tracy had turned up his heat by dragging her scarlet fingernails over his nipples and complimenting him on his hard-bodied torso. She knelt then between his legs, facing a coffee table. She lowered her head and sniffed up a line of the coke set out in rows on a sheet of white paper. One row already was gone, up Ryan's nose.

He leaned over and put his arms around her, finding that her halter top unhooked between her breasts.

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