“Those flowers are for me?” teased a young woman dressed in a white camisole, fishnet stockings, and shorts that left nothing to the imagination. She delicately placed a drink in the center of the table.
“Sorry, Candace, but they are for the marquee act,” said Oliver.
“She was sad you didn’t come home last night,” said the server, a young woman whose hair alternated from neon purple to bright blue, depending upon the flashing lights of the stage. She had a thin build, but athletic legs toned from years of dancing extruded from her fashionably constricted server costume.
“I had to work out some things,” replied Oliver.
The server nodded in the direction of the bouquet. “Nice touch, champ!” She bent lower to whisper in his ear. “I think it’s going to work!” She withdrew from the tab
