I knew the second I caught his eye, I had him. Not to brag—but I knew I looked good that night, in a crop top and a tight skirt that clung to my body. He kept staring at me as he set up for the event that night. He was working, and I was a guest at the old resort for two nights.
There was no real need for me to be dressed up, either, perfume and jewelry and all. It was the middle of January, off season, and I was, far and away, one of the youngest people in the entire building.
So maybe the fact that I was the only girl within a mile helped me stand out, and that’s why I caught his eye.
But I don’t think so. I think he caught my eye, and I caught his, because we wanted each other. Rather, knew what exactly what we wanted from each other.
He set up for the event—a lecture—and then sat down. Instead of the watching the powerpoint, I was watching him. He had the kind of face you’d see on magazines in the ’90s. He was the boy next door, a few years after he got older and moved off the street. He had brown hair and boyish charm, but with an edge. He knew I was watching, because we made eye contact twice. Both times, I looked away nonchalantly.