Not the betting type©

She had one of those faces that you had to go and talk to and the kind of body you had to talk about. She was there with someone but it was me. I’m the kind of guy who can’t help himself.

“Name please” I requested.

“You make it sound like a medical check up?” She wasn’t playing but I was on a roll.

“It all checks out” I declared. Her face softened into a smile.

“Anything in particular?” Her eyes seem to beckon me. Now we were communicating.

“Everything from where I see” I said making a point of staring into those eyes.

“Depends on your 20/20 angle” she mused. She was getting technical. I had to pull it back. So I took the kind of chance that makes grown men weep. One thing was certain. There was no going back.

“What’s the bets I could take you right here, right now?”

“I’m not the betting type”. Her dancing partner laughed. I had to laugh as she brushed me aside with a wave from her alluring hand. “Besides, I’m dancing with my husband.”

Typical femme fatale, a tease or that other type.

Still, I’d slipped her my number and she didn’t even know it.

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Where blokes go wrong series


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