The short skirt worked—little does he know I’m right where I want to be.
I curl my feet around the front legs of my chair—spreading my knees wide, hoping he can see I’m not wearing underwear—and the draft from the air conditioning unit under the window blows my mating-call scent to his nose.
He looks over the rim of his glasses, then his eyes drift down; we sit like this for several minutes, and I wonder which of us will rise first, and whose clothing will drop to the floor next, and from the playground behind the elementary school next door, how many innocent eyes will gaze up and unknowingly watch the show.
Written for 3LineTales, hosted by Sonya (Only 100 Words). A picture is worth three lines. What tale can you draw?