She’s a wild one. You’ve heard about her before; the girl that commands the room with her confidence, marching straight up to the bar to order her usual Sidecar, ignoring the stares of the lustful men and the envious women. She scans the bar as she’s waiting for her drink, scoping out her audience. Her eyes meet yours- those chesnut brown eyes. They sparkle for you and only you. She smiles that mischievous, red-lipped smile, as if she somehow knows every detail of your life. Desperate to find out the extent of her knowledge, you work your way over to her, avoiding the noisy bachelorette party calling to “You! Yeah you, the hottie with the hair!” But, as every story like this goes, because every wild one’s nature is just so, by the time you get to where she was standing, she’s gone. Her perfume still lingers lightly in the air, mocking you. You scan the room, desperately searching for her gleaming brown eyes, her cherry red lips. Your eyes reach the exit as her perfectly manicured hand closes around the handle, ready to move on to her next adventure. She catches your eye one last time, lips curving into the smallest smirk, and pushes the door open, letting the warm summer breeze take her place.


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