Page 101 of Nuts

“The clothes don’t make you look good, you make the clothes look good.”

She giggled. “Thank you. But do you like the outfit?”

“I love the outfit. You ought to model that shirt for whoever makes it. Looks like it was made for you. And that little ass of yours is killin’ it in those yoga pants.”

“They’re not yoga pants, they’re leggings.”

“Whatever they are, they were made for that cute little butt of yours.”

She looked embarrassed. “Thank you.”

I raised my bottle of beer. “Thank you.”

“Okay, I’ll be back.”

She disappeared into the room. After a few moments, she opened the door. “Ready?”

“Stop asking. Just surprise me.”

Out she came in a pair of painted-on jeans, a short-sleeved fitted tee shirt, and a pair of heels.

“Jesus jumped up Christ.”

Her eyes shot wide. “What?”

“Take that shit off.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Actually, I love it. But if you keep it on, you’re gonna get it.”

“Get what?”

“The dick.”

She cocked her hip. “You’re going to give it to me if I don’t take them off?”

“That’s right.”

“Fine.” She took a step toward me. “I guess you like it?”

“I mean it.”

“Do I look scared, mister?”

“Joey…”

She took a few more steps toward me.

“Joey…”

Her curly hair bounced with each perfectly placed step. She looked like a model. The living room was her own personal runway, and I was her audience. Although in the seven years that I’d known her I’d never seen her wear heels, she sure knew how to navigate in them.

She paused at the far end of the couch, pressed the web of her hand against her waist, and arched her back slightly. “You’re going to give it to me, huh?”

Her hourglass figure was far more pronounced in tight jeans and tight tee shirt than it was in baggy pants and a hoodie. She could wear a garbage sack and be stunning, but in the clothes she wore, she looked gorgeous.

I set my beer on the end table. “God damned right.”