The Tip of My Index Finger—Summerfest
“Do you know where U.S. Cellular stadium is?”
Quickly, her nearly legal blue eyes scan past his beer and black V neck to the face. The look of puzzlement breaks as she pins the accent.
“Yep,” he says. His head has cocked, eyes flashing green, a mischievous smile breaking.
“I think it’s that way,” she says twisting her torso, pointing her slender arm.
“You should join us then,” he says as his arm hooks hers.
Her friends want to see the Wailers. But with a drink now in hand, a circle of jerks around her, and Passion Pit only a song away, the decision had been ordained.