It was hard.
Being stared at.
She felt his glance at every breath she took. It was like he was counting every breath she sucked into her lungs.
One, two, three, that’s enough.
Her heart was palpitating, unresponsive to her mind. She tried to cajole it to behave, but it did what it wanted.
She wanted him. She wanted to know what it felt like to be with him, just for a night. She wanted to feel him closer – much, much closer.
So she took the plunge. She turned his way and walked towards him. This man that had become her admirer. He was more handsome than he appeared to be from afar.
Much closer, she examined him. She stared at his hard physique, the color of his eyes – they were brown, how typical of a Nigerian.
He had a cocktail in his hand, just like she did. They were meant to be together, even if this was actually a cocktail dinner.
His tuxedo was the shade of dark chocolate and his haircut was immaculate. She was aware of every sharp edge of his face, the replica of a Greek god – however, he was still a Nigerian.
She dropped her glass absentmindedly on the tray of a waiter four feet away.
With her free hands she reached out to touch him, to examine the hard parts of this being. Too late, he was already taking a step away.
His expression wasn’t that vague.
With a sigh, she said, “How rude! You should have simply said I was too close for comfort you hunky being.”
With a humph, she winked at his aghast face and took several strides away.
She was in pursuit of a new admirer; one who would willingly succumb to all her naughty desires. One who won’t accuse of being too close for comfort.
Image Credit: Photographie