But at the end of the day, after we’d shared the pizza I’d fired in the house’s outdoor oven, there had been only the question of how we entered...the night.“Movie?” she asked quietly.I swallowed. “Yes.”Her smile was like the dawning of sunshine.It was unspoken that she’d sit between my legs, her back against me. I knew that she’d lower her hand to my calf, fingertips stroking against my ankle, before the film even began.I wasn’t aware of what we were supposed to be watching. Didn’t ask. Didn’t. "Oh, my sights are set somewhat higher than that." A tip of my whiskey. "I'm Marcus, by the way." Bianca," she volunteered, sipping.She was a salesgirl, but naturally - she being pretty and this being Manhattan - was trying to be a model. And, of course, I told her she was certain to be a success. A few minutes more verbal teasing, and then we got out on the dance floor. It felt good to move, let off some steam. Grace and speed and stamina were hardly a problem. Not tonight.I took a few risks. More

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