It takes no time at all for Miss Awkward to learn and master the choreography. Not “awkward” at all.
God Dammit, she moves like a fucking dream. Those legs. That extension. I’d like to get her into an awkward position—on my lap with those goddamn legs wrapped around the back of the chair.
Mariette calls Miss Awkward up to the table. She is even more striking up close. Her eyes are huge. Blue-green. Pure. Guileless.
Mariette stares at her. A tight-lipped smile slowly appears. There is an uncomfortable tension between the two women. I can’t tell what either is thinking. Miss Awkward doesn’t appear nervous. Mariette gives me nothing. Does she like this girl or hate her? She generally doesn’t call dancers to the table. If my cock wasn’t playing human compass right now, I’d have given her a standing “O,” as in ovation. But the other kind of standing “O” sounds fucking awesome, too. What’s up with me? I never respond to girls like this. Come on. I could do that entire waiting room by just smiling at them. What’s so special about this chick?
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