Eyes Wide Open…

The Pick-Up

I’ve perfected a never-fail flirtatious look, mostly by accident.  A slight tip down of my head, then widened eyes as I looked up and around the room.  I knew my eyes were my best feature, everyone said so.  Big and brown with green flecks, expertly applied liner and smoky shadow, long, thick, sweeping lashes.  The miracle of mascara and extensions.  Not wearing my glasses forced me to stare a little myopically while things came into focus and only served to give me a wide-eyed, come hither look.  Mama always said something about men not making passes at girls who wear glasses —

Then, of course, the slight hair toss back over the shoulder, gently pursed and glossy lips, cheeks sucked in slightly, foretelling things to come…  Top teeth biting delicately into a bottom lip, eyes looking down shyly.  My right hand idly plays with the top button on my blouse, opening one, then another.

Then, look up, eyes widen, repeat, and suddenly I see him across the room.  Oh, my, he’s gorgeous and tall and dark.  Light eyes, I can’t tell the color yet, probably blue with that almost black hair.  Or hazel, maybe hazel.  Our eyes meet and I see a look of interest flicker over his face.  He’s well dressed, dark suit, crisp white shirt.  Banker, lawyer?  Mm, maybe.   Writer?  No, too well dressed…

Darn, wasn’t he coming this way yet?  My drink needed refilling and I was getting thirsty.  Oh, there he is, sliding onto an empty stool on my right, his arm reaching across the back of my chair as though we belonged together.  Just like that my wine glass was refilled and the bartender set a tumbler of what looked like Scotch, neat, in front of Mr. Gorgeous.  I like a man who takes charge, at least I do tonight…

It almost always worked like clockwork when I picked the right guy to surreptitiously glance at, the one whose eyes drifted from my face to my chest and then slowly back up to my face.  If his look was too carnal and I didn’t feel a spark, I might tamp down my flirting a little.  No sense asking for trouble.

But if there was that crackle of electricity, and the room was getting hotter, I’d touch my cold glass to my lips, then the hollow of my throat, watching from lowered lashes as his eyes followed the movement, lowering the glass inch by inch…

But sometimes I miscalculated and he wasn’t the perfect guy after all.   And that’s how I met you…

I’ll share more later.  What do you think so far?  Part 2 is here.