A Pryce Worth Paying - 20
“Are you serious?” She asked disappointedly. “It’s not like I’m going to say anything to anyone like The National Inquirer...ok, I’d probably tell my sister,” she admitted, “but that’s all.” Confidential? What a serious stick-in-the-mud!
“Sorry ma’am…” He reiterated as he thought about her sarcastic comment.
“Please stop calling me ma’am - I’m not old - call me Ali,” she corrected him. She was flustered with his stiff, no smiles, work-by-the-book hard-nosed attitude - he wasn’t fun like Riley.
“Yes ma’...Miss,” he agreed, his brows furrowed in surprise when she got fiesty. What was her problem all of the sudden, he wondered as she was getting more bitchy.
”Just call me Ali ok - miss, ma’am, that’s old and formal.”
The last thing he thought was that she was old. He thought otherwise when he first met her at Ferretti’s when they both stared each other down. She was spirited. Sultry. Sexy. She was well put together. Her wavy dark hair bounced freely as she moved and he especially liked loose wavy hair on women. When she walked towards him at Ferretti’s, her full, curvy hips swayed with youthful energy - her smile was warm, genuine, yet seductive - he even liked the red raspberry lipstick she wore. The intense color framed her even teeth, with the exception of one that just slightly overlapped the other. That imperfection was perfect on her.