I picked up
Nikki in the underground lot; she stood next to her car resplendent in a
shimmering white silk gown that slunk down her curves. The gown left her
shoulders wonderfully bare, but she had a pair of long white opera gloves to
dress the whole thing up a little more.
I stepped
out, about to let out a wolf whistle, but she beat me to it. She curled a
finger, beckoning me to her. I ran two fingers around the brim of my fedora,
then did a Fred Astaire slide to her. When I reached her, I pulled my hat off
and made a bow. The bow went better in my head than in reality, but Nikki
smiled all the same.
When I came
back up she pulled me close and kissed me.
“That’s
sexual assault,” I smirked.
“You
deserve it for dressing so provocatively,” she grabbed my rear.