Three to Go
“I’m telling you, I can say anything, and get her to go home with me.”
“And I’m telling you that you’re full of shit.”
“Oh yeah? Wanna put your money where your mouth is?”
Brad thought a minute. “Okay, wiseass, I tell you what. You see that blonde over there?” Brad pointed to her, legs for days, hair long and lustrous, a smile to end the world. Tony nodded.
“I’ll lay you a hundred that you can’t get her to go home with you.”
Tony extended his hand, and Brad shook it. “You’ve got a deal,” and he guzzled his beer and made his way toward the woman.
“Excuse me, but you’ve got three minutes to go home with me.”
The woman stared at him. “What?”
“You’ve got three minutes to go home with me.” He paused. “I’m dying, you see, and if you say no, it’ll break my heart.”
The woman laughed, and Brad frowned, grasped his chest, and began faking a heart attack.
Finally, the woman agreed. “Okay, okay, God, just don’t die!”
They headed for the door, but were stopped by the bartender.
“What’s going on here?”
“He told me I had three minutes to go home with him or else he’d die.”
The bartender looked at the woman, who just so happened to be his girlfriend. He pulled her aside and stared at Brad, crossed his arms. “And you’ve got three seconds to get the hell outta here before I throw you out.”
Brad headed out the door alone as Tony laughed, turned his attention back to the big screen TV, patted his wallet in his pants pocket, and smiled.