“You’ll only get a drink out of me,” she replies. “What’ll it be?”
“Do you have Chivas Regal Scotch?” I ask and her eyes instantly go cold. Her shoulders tense. Her jaw ticks.
“I do. Want it on the rocks or straight up?”
“Straight up.”
She pours the drink and slides it over to me, then turns to walk away.
“What did I say?”
“You didn’t say anything important,” she replies and walks away without looking back, her hips swaying with each step, those shoes clicking on the hard wood.
I usually like my women sweet, curvy and docile. Soft.
There is nothing soft, sweet or curvy about the woman walking away from me. She’s all sharp edges.
She’s going to be work, and she just might kill me.
I grin and sip my drink. It’s going to be one hell of a ride.
The End