FEED My MIND: Adventure. Learn. Live. Write.
His Ray bans sit on the bar top, shoved to the side to make room for his Stella. She’s in the blue dress, the one that hugs her hips and rides up when she sits,and he likes that and how she sips her Sauvignon Blanc with one eye brow raised.
He’s facing the door. She’s not.
He’s telling her about the latest deal and the jag of a boss he works with. She’s thinking about his blue eyes and the way she made his legs shake when he came in her mouth in the parking lot at the pre-lunch-meeting.
He’s got a habit of looking at his timepiece a little too often. She’s a bit distracted by his hands and wants them to settle in between her thighs.
He’s been out too late drinking Scotch the night before with a chatty bartender, Michelle he says, who serves a joke with each generous pour. She’s coming down off a racy email chat with a man who knows how to write.
He thinks she might be the one. She’s hoping he leaves her a mill in his will.