asked the burly guy with the round baby blue eyes behind the counter. He’d introduced himself as Joseph, and Claire was discovering that the ferocious scowl was probably an illusion caused by thick, jutting eyebrows that almost met over the bridge of what looked like a once-broken nose. He wiped the same place in the counter over and over again with a rag that might have also been used for oil changes. Claire couldn’t be sure.“Twenty-two,” corrected Claire, following Linley’s rule that if you’re going to lie, lie big.He looked at her a moment, his blue eyes blank.She wondered if the massive hangover from the all-nighter at Banger’s made her look older, or just skeezy. She was grateful for the interior gloom. It cut down on the wince factor.“I.D.?”It was a phony I.D., but since it was from Massachusetts, she figured he might not spot it. She flipped open her wallet.His eyes flicked over the license.“No experience.” His eyes flicked across Claire: chest, face, chest.
