Women love talking to a male best friend in a way they can never with their partners.
Hmmm. Sometimes we all get what we want!
This vixen; i've seen rooms full of people bewitched, one after the other, falling like dominos.
I've seen dozens of egos teased and inflated by her, one by one. A gathering of strangers, all dumb struck. All thinking she singled them out. That they had something that appealed to her, that won her over, that enticed her to them.
A mexican wave of smugness, of beatific warmth, follow her around the room. Her trail of tinkerbell dust, of dazed smiles on the faces of strangers, gives her away. She can't hide it!
You can meet her a dozen times and think you know her to a T. You don't even realise her stories don't make sense! You don't see your own reflection staring back when she laughs at your jokes, dazzles with her eyes, holds her finger just inside her lip, at the corner of her mouth, enrapt in your story, in your life, in you.
But i know her. I know what makes her smile with her mouth and what makes her smile with her eyes.
I know what makes her risk EVERYTHING for the touch of a stanger, the illicit kiss of an unknown figure in the shadows. I know what makes her stare into his eyes daring him to blink/blush/beg to differ.
what makes her smile and walk away. I know what makes her so sure that he'll be watching her exit through the club. That he'll be following her with his stunned gaze. Then following with his feet, then his body, then his heart!
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