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.