Misdirection.
He leaned back on his stool, a stool standing by the quietly lit bar counter with the grizzled, old man bartender affectionately drying the beer mugs. He had leaned back to get a better view. Of what? His thoughts, perhaps. She, a sultry patron, softly placed a soft hand on his chest. Startled, he looked to her, and then to her hand. He started to lean back forward, but then she pushed him backwards onto the floor.