“You’re my favorite,” she said, trailing a lacquered nail along his arm, his cheeks flushing as scarlet as her polish.
He nervously sipped his seltzer and lime through a paper straw, trying but failing to not stare, his eyes inherently drawn to her ample and barely contained bosom. Later he couldn’t remember the color of her eyes but could describe in detail the pendant she had nestled snugly in her décolletage.
His discomfort was equalled only by the amusement of his more experienced coterie who brought him to the lounge to meet a willing coquette.
He was never the same.