He looked at her over his arm, wondering what he could get from her. He had good looks and knew how to use them on marginally pretty women. She was smart but not a handsome woman. In a crowd, she blended in, fitted in, disappeared. She’d be perfect. He would make her laugh, feel special, get laid, then he’d leave her.
She was an evening’s entertainment at best. A dinner companion at worst.
If she got all emotional about it, it was her problem. He just wanted to get laid, and get back in his car and move on down the road. He needed to be in Florida by tomorrow evening. He was on a tight schedule.
He walked over and stood beside her in front of the Picasso painting in the art gallery. He didn’t say anything, just made her aware of him. He wore good cologne and a button down collar. His dark hair was curly and unruly, a little grey at the temples. She took a step away from him and he smiled. Mission accomplished, he had her attention. The rest was history.
Devonne Brown 
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