******************
Sitting next to her on the plane, he
was drawn to her, again, like metal to a magnet. Her makeup was perfect, she
wore a silk tank top in aqua that showed enough cleavage to tempt him. Her
nails were perfect, her blonde hair, just long enough, but not too long,
styled, not hanging like a mop. Her appearance screamed success, cool
sophistication, movie-star beauty. She could have her choice of men.
Harley had noticed each man they
passed couldn't take his eyes off her. Being the envy
of every man on the plane felt good. He raised his glass.
“To old friends,” he said.
“To old lovers,” she countered.
“Touché,” he replied. They drank and
nibbled on the food. Shyla filled his senses, her beauty, her unique scent, the
softness of her skin. Simply sitting next to her had him wired. Harley had no idea what he was putting in his mouth, but he
wished it had been a certain part of Shy, instead of a cheese puff.
“So you won the Super Bowl, now
you’re looking for a wife?”
He nodded. “That’s about it.”
“I can’t believe you can’t find one
on your own.”
“All those groupies in bars aren’t
exactly the girls I want to take home to mother.”
“That would be quite a trip, since
your mom’s been gone five years now.”
He almost spit out champagne. She
laughed and handed him a napkin.
“Nice way to talk about my mother.”
“It’s the truth. None of your
teammates can fix you up with the perfect girl?” She arched an eyebrow.
“If they could, would I be sitting
here?”
She shrugged. “Guess not. Well, they
can’t all be me.”
He grinned. “You got that right.”
The steward brought out caviar on
toast, which they gobbled down and pate, which they turned their noses up at.
They dined on filet mignon, cooked medium. Harley thought he’d lose it when she
pulled out the same book that he had finished the month before.
“Damn it, Shy. Why do you have to be
so much like me?”
“A man-whore?”
“You know what I mean. I read Grafton’s
latest book last month.”
She laughed. “My male twin. Oops,
that would make us incest.”
He smiled before replying, “Is there
an ‘us’?”
Color crept up to her cheeks. She
looked away, out the window, even though it was dark out.
“I guess not. Not if you’re on the
quest for connubial bliss with someone else.”
“Did you want to get
married?” His eyebrows shot up.BACK TO TUESDAY TALES
TO MY WEBSITE
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