Sexy Women Writing: Sandi and Penny Take The Sexy Writing Challenge #2 (Mature Monogamous Sex That Sizzles Book 84)–Scenes From A Mexican Restaurant

“Hello.”

I looked up from my plate. Sensed the cheese droplet on my chin immediately.

Chewed. Dipped my head. Chewed some more. Swallowed way too soon.

“Hello,” I croaked.

He smiled. It was a fabulous smile. White, polished ivory that I swore glistened from the corners of his mouth.

“I’m David Smith.”

David Smith. Sure.

“Hello.”

“I come in here for lunch most days. Couldn’t help but notice you do too. We’re the off-lunch-hour crew, I guess.”

“You could say that, I guess,” I replied.

“Mind if I take a seat?”

“Help yourself.”

Ana came out of nowhere. She set a Corona in front of Mr. Smith. Obviously, he was a two-to-three o’clock regular too.

“Chicken nachos. Good call. They’re delicious.”

“They are.”

“Margarita. Texas-style, by the looks of it.”

“You have a certain mastery of this Mexican restaurant menu,” I conceded.

That made him smile.

“Sorry. I feel like life has become very predictable for me all of a sudden. I saw you this afternoon and I felt like I needed to mix it up a little.”

His words. They sounded like my own.

“Predictable?” I asked.

“Yep. Predictable. Every day I take Denver Transit into the office to my law firm. Every day I write during the trip. Every day I stare at briefs and my customers’ portfolios. Every day I come here between two and three.”

“My God, that sounds awful!” I mocked him, large eyes and twisted mouth for emphasis.

I took a sip of my margarita while I waited for him to catch up.

“You’re making fun of me,” he conceded.

“That boy… he’s a sharp one.”

“You’re still making fun of me.”

“Sorry. I’ll stop.”

“No. It’s OK. I could use some poking at. To see if I’m still alive.”

“So, you’re a lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“Real estate?”

“No. Mostly trusts. Big family stuff. Insurance. Annuities. Pretty boring.”

“It interested you at some point.”

“It pays the bills. It gives me time to write.”

“You write? Every morning on the Transit?”

“Yes. It was a habit I developed growing up in Chicago. Did it all through high school. It continued during my years at Northwestern.”

“What do you write?”

He smiled. Studied me. “Erotica mostly.”

I smiled back. Took another sip of my margarita. Nibbled at a chip. “That’s interesting.”

“What do you do?”

“I write.”

“Somehow I knew you were going to say that.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Lunch between two and three. Every time a margarita. Sometimes a second margarita. Always the chicken nachos. You’re on your own schedule, yet don’t have the time or the brain capacity to try something out of the ordinary.”

“And that makes me a writer? I could just as easily be a Trust Attorney by the sound of it.”

“Touche.”

“Or an accountant with odd hours. Or a business owner. Or a call girl.”

“You’ve shot my theory all to hell. So what do you do?”

“I’m a writer.”

David took a swig from his Corona and smirked. “A writer, huh? And what do you write?”

“Erotica. Mostly. Happily Ever After stuff.”

“More romance?”

“Nah. I like it dirty.”

“I see.”

“So, you’ve broken your monotony, braved up enough to talk to the girl across the way. What will you do for an encore?”

“Finish my beer and go back to work.”

“Is that all?”

I held eye contact. Didn’t reach for my glass. Didn’t reach for a chip.

“What would you recommend I do?”

“It seems like a prescient moment.”

“Does it?”

“Do you not know what to do next?”

He held eye contact as well. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“And what’s that, David Smith?”

“I’d like to ask you to lunch tomorrow. So we can get to know each other. Person to person. Writer to writer.”

“I believe I would like that, David Smith.”

“Good. May I ask your name?”

“Penny.”

“Good. Thank you, Penny. I’ll see you at two.”

“I’ll be here…”

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