Page 7 of Seduction in Spades

“Top five,” he counters.

“I’ll allow.”

He chuckles. “AC/DC, Guns ‘N Roses, Motley Crue, Bon Jovi, and...”

Those are good, if not surprising bands.

“REM.”

“Wow. The last two surprise me.”

“You’re thinking Bon Jovi is a woman’s love fest. I told you I have an older sister. My parents wouldn’t let her go see him in concert without me, even though I’m a few years younger. He put on a good show two decades ago and still does today.”

“You’ve seen him recently?”

“At Fenway Park. The concerts in the summer are awesome.”

“Good to know. And REM?”

“Takes me back to summer parties. Bonfires. Beer. Girls.” He winks. “Now your top five bands.”

“Too many to count.”

“You don’t play fair.” His foot taps against mine.

Accidental? I think not. Superman is playing footsies with me. And I like it. “You won’t make fun?”

“And ruin my chances of stalking your doorstep? Never?”

Hell, I like his humor. He is kidding, I hope. “As you may have noticed earlier, I like to dance.”

His blue eyes darken, and he lowers his gaze to my hips, raking it up the sides of my body without overtly staring at my chest. My boobs are decent. Not huge. Not small. Nice B-cups. On a good day and with the right bra, I can fill a C. Yet, he doesn’t ogle.

“I noticed.”

“Usher, Eminem, throw in some Lady Gaga, a little Pink, and maybe a throwback to Salt-N-Pepa, and you have my perfect playlist.”

“I’m pretty sure the DJ had your playlist running tonight.”

“That he did.” It pays to have connections.

We fire off our favorite pizza toppings, sports teams, and movies. There’s some overlap and plenty of disparities. He has a liking for war and action movies, whereas I prefer rom coms. Other than that, we’re compatible.

Superman has won me and my neglected lady parts over.

“Would you like another round?”

The tequila was amazing and strong. I can feel it buzzing through me already. I had two glasses of wine at The Club before I started dancing. I’m sure I sweated that alcohol out already. I’m one hundred percent aware of my thoughts, my words, and my intentions.

“I’m good.”

He takes out his wallet and places a few bills on the bar. His swiftness to end the night has my shoulders slouching in disappointment.

“I need to use the restroom before we leave.” I hop off the stool and find my way to the ladies’ room. I take care of business and wash my hands, checking myself out in the mirror. The large curls have relaxed, leaving my hair with more beach waves and not as much bounce.

I’m not one for plastering on makeup. A little concealer when my skin is pasty, or I have a breakout. Some bronzer in the winter. Since it’s early September, I still have my summer tan and only need to add a layer of mascara and a tinted lip gloss.

My doable bucket list items when I moved to Boston consisted of regular girls' nights, more time with my brother, and lots of shopping for the apartment while also kicking ass at my new job.

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