Masterpiece (14 page)

I’m taking off my leather jacket when the hostess walks up and offers to show us to our seats. She has red hair. Not red but strawberry-blond: a warm, golden color with fiery copper highlights. There’s something so eye-catching about her I can’t pull my gaze away. She seems to radiate light. Her face is angelic, exquisite. Dazzling. I realize I’m staring.

She’s waiting for me and her expression is slightly hassled. They’re busy tonight and I’m holding her up. She has other things to do beside stand there and wait for me to follow her.

But I take my time. I can’t help it: I want to watch her a little more. Check out the soft, silky colors of her. That
hair
. The deep shade of her violet-blue eyes that are dark-rimmed and cat-like. The sprinkling of freckles across her perfect little nose. The pinkness of her lips and her pale, clear skin. She’s slim but curvy in all the right places.

Damn
.
All
the right places.

Maybe I’ve just gone too long without and am suddenly suffering the consequences of my self-imposed practically-monklike existence. My cock –
fuck
– goes instantly rock-hard. She’s wearing a tight black top and black pants and a wide black belt to carry waitress stuff in. On anyone else the outfit would look nondescript but on this girl it looks sexy as fuck. Part of the reason she’s sexy as fuck is because you can tell – absolutely no doubt about it – that she has no idea she’s sexy. She’s not
trying
to look sexy, not at all. She just is. More cute and sexy and beautiful and sweet-looking than anyone I’ve ever seen. And it’s that differential that floors me, for no particular reason.

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