She had felt his hand go to her knee, and rather than say anything she had leaned forward, mashing heavy tits against the table edge as she sipped more through the straw. Manicured nails brushed her short, blonde hair behind her ears as her eyes darted around. Her back was mostly to the barroom, and her hips were wide enough to block anyone looking. Trisha met Mark's eyes, and she uncrossed her legs, parting her knees just a little, smiling at his offer of "services."<br/><br/>He was asking for another round with one hand, and she looked at her finished margarita and shot glass, and the half full one she had now. Laughing a little she asked, "Are you trying to get me drunk?"  She was no lightweight, literally and figuratively, but she was nearly three drinks in and had been here like what, ten minutes?  Hurling was not going to impress anyone!  Then she felt his hand, the one under the table, start rubbing her thigh.<br/><br/>He leaned forward and got dirty. Like saying it soft as his hand slipped inside her shorts- found her own dirty surprise of nothing underneath. She was blushing not flushing when the waitress stopped back by, had even brought more shots. This was definitely going to end in just one way Trish realized. "If I have this," she said, fingering the shot glass while he started to finger at something else, "There's no way I can drive myself home." She licked the salt off the rim suggestively, and then downed it, locking eyes with the younger man.