Sore Thumb || Meg and Lisa
Once, joints like this had been thrilling–full of rowdy people and men with no mailing addresses and enough alcohol for her to forget her last name. Now, not so much. Lisa couldn’t afford getting drunk in public (or anywhere, really) anymore than she could afford to lose the bottle of holy water that sat in her purse. Things were different.
She sat at the bar with a half-empty bottle of beer and a head full of thoughts. (Options. Dean. Nicole. Ben. Claire. So many people she loved in a profession that would ruin them.) There weren’t any real cases in the area… in fact, things were strangely quiet nearly everywhere she went.
She was probably just being paranoid.