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.
My downfall.
“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.”
Asshole.
“What
makes you think I want to fuck her?”
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