Her legs were open.
Her legs were spread wide, and I could see the white of her thigh through a carefully-torn hole in her jeans. The guy sitting next to her? All he saw was me, staring at her, and wondering….
Well, there it was…. Four shots of tequila and an icy stare.
“What are you looking at?” my friend asked me.
“That girl’s spread. Could that be a mistake? The way she’s sitting?”
He leaned over, and took a long look; his gaze lost in the shadow that nestled between her slender, welcoming legs. “I doubt it,” he announced with a hopeless sigh.
Her friend spoke to me then. It’s weird when a stranger in a crowded bar addresses you from an adjacent table. “We see you man,” he leered. It was clear he wasn’t her boyfriend. “Why don’t you come over instead of just staring at her? She’s not gonna’ fuck you, don’t worry.”
“What makes you think I want to fuck her?”