Copyright © 1997
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I was two glasses of wine into a bottle of crisp, dry cabernet when I spotted her trying hard not to look at me. It was one of those glances that shift way immediately, only to come right back again. By then she realized that she had been caught looking. Instantly, I wondered if Id caught her looking, or if she had just reeled me in with her incredible eyes. It didn't really matter. There was nothing left to do but pursue the eyes and whatever was behind them.
My place at the bar was a regular one. I was regular too. The routine was always the same; cabernet, very rare steak, baked potato, and my favorite Caesar salad. I never had to order. I just had to show up and control the pace of the meal. I was a woman of routine. The eyes that were locked on to mine were not part of the routine. There was a very good chance that a new
pace was taking shape and I was going to have very little to do with how fast things would progress. A hint of a smile joined her captivating gaze. I half motioned to her, offering a subtle salute with my wineglass. My heart jumped in my chest, as she moved in the direction of my seat. The wine swirled across his tongue, rewarding me with a peppery finish while my mind anticipated what could be a spicy beginning.
Her eyes never left mine, as she walked through the semi-crowded bar. She was tall, and the loose, flowing skirt she wore hid what had to be very nice legs. The snap of stiletto heels on the hardwood floor added punctuation to the long stride that only the longest of legs could produce. Beautiful fingernails adorned the slender fingers that came to rest on the seatback next to me. Her voice could not be described as anything short of sultry when she asked, "Is this seat taken?"
I sat back and turned to look directly at her and smiled, saying, "No I've been saving it for you."
"Why thank you," she replied with an accent that told me that her sweet little peaches had to be from Georgia. She scooted up onto the high armchair and crossed her legs with an unprecedented grace.
The bartender excused herself, as she placed the portable bar tray in from of me and delivered my meal. A reflex action of licking my lips arrived simultaneously with the aroma of the grilled steak. She was watching me, as my dinner was placed before me and the ritual began. I leaned forward slightly and closed my eyes, inhaling the steam that rose from my plate. Once more I licked my lips. My mouth was watering in anticipation of the first bite of a perfectly prepared filet. I was a picture of intense concentration. It infatuated her to watch me savor the sensory aspects of my meal. She sized me up as a woman who could not be hurried. She figured
that I was probably thorough in everything I did. She crossed her legs again, with a pleasing little pinch in private.
I adjusted my napkin in my lap and gathered knife and fork to cut a small piece off the filet. It was perfect, seared on the outside with a cool red center. I brought the morsel to my mouth and closed my eyes again while chewing slowly. With knife and fork laid on my plate, I reached for the wine. Another deep draught swirled in my mouth briefly before I swallowed.
"I love watching you who enjoys your food," she said finally, crossing her legs for the third time, lifting the top leg very high before settling down over the other.
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