She sat across my desk and I stared into her baby blues, falling deep into their perfect lagoon. I was engaged. Entranced. I hung on her every word. I breathed when she did. Blinked when she did. My heart thumped loudly. I didn’t even hear the majority of her story, but I was nodding, and mindlessly saying that I’d do everything I could to help her out.
She coughed a bit and I fumbled to reach that bottle of scotch in my drawer and I wiped out a glass with my handkerchief. As I poured, her eyes burned into me and I felt the blood rising to my face. I knew that I had to calm down or lose my composure entirely, but she was more intoxicating than my scotch.
She sipped at her glass as she finished the story. She wanted me to meet her tomorrow night at the bar across the street to give me more info, and with that she was up and putting her coat on. She stopped at the door and turned towards me, stealing my breath. She smiled and said thanks.
It was all I could do to make it back to my glass.
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