A Chance

Rick

Harley was waiting for me at the curb outside her apartment building when I pulled up in the Saleen at seven o’clock on Sunday night.

I popped the door open for her, and she leaned over to peer in at me. “Why, hello there, handsome,” she purred. Her red-painted lips shaped every word that dripped off her tongue beautifully.

I grinned. “Hop in.”

Harley slid gracefully into the passenger seat and tugged her skirt down, a cute little denim number that hugged her hips and ass so well it looked like it was painted on. She’d paired it with black ankle boots, a black shirt, and her leather jacket. The red lipstick and gold earrings topped off the look.

“So where are you taking me?” she asked as she reached over her shoulder to pull her seatbelt across her chest.

“I thought we would go traditional tonight.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Traditional, huh? What does that even mean?”

“I was thinking drinks, dinner, dessert. You know, the normal romantic stuff people do.”

She giggled and nodded. “