A dangerous game has begun.
Sydney. Her skin felt as soft as it looked. I shouldn’t have touched her, but I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been to New Orleans dozens upon dozens of times. It’s a unique city, filled with tourists and superstition. And until tonight, I’d never been superstitious.
An old fortuneteller freak stopped me on the way to the diner and said I would make a decision that would change my path. She didn’t know that I’d walked the path to this very restaurant before. It had been a few years.
Who knew that the decision to return would be blessed with a beauty—five foot six with curves in all the right mouth-watering places. Clothed in cheap polyester, stained with God only knew what, Sydney was a vision. Blonde hair to her waist. Big brown doe eyes. I could almost taste her.
In his game, everyone’s a pawn…
I didn’t miss the rumble of her stomach when I asked her to dine with us. She was hungry. Something that flashed in those eyes told me it wasn’t because she just skipped lunch today. Maybe I could meet some of her needs. Forget that. I could definitely meet her needs, but it was up to her to let me. So, I left her my business card, my number.
Girls like Sydney, they’re afraid. They never make the first move. Most never even make the second. I doubt she’d call. I’d tipped her well, not because she was the best waitress I’d ever had, not even because she was within my sites. I tipped her so that when I came back to the diner, she would remember me. She would want to serve me.
And, oh, would she ever serve me. I just have to play my cards right.
…and he’s never lost a game.