She did not at all prefer the taste of gin, but she was trying to set the mood and had determined after careful research (of the James Bond variety) that a martini was really the only nip on which she could appropriately imbibe. The olives, she assured herself, would take the edge off and she permitted a rather hefty quantity of the salted juice to fog the booze. "Yeah... this is a sexy drink," she mused, and tied the apron string behind her back, giggling to herself as it found the crease of her bare cheeks and stayed there, tickling.
Sip.
She balanced the martini carefully and spun on her funny little bare feet, heading out of the kitchen door. Her toes brushed affectionately against the ginger pup who had spent the afternoon wrestling with a large stuffed cat that he was now lying upon, sleeping. It was warm out, and the heat really took it out of her dogs. She had elected not to take them on her morning run because of it, and had, in fact, nearly stopped mid-jog because she could feel her face heating up to a brilliant rouge. Now, however, she was cooled off and showered, the only remnant of the morning exercise was the soreness in the muscles of her slender legs.
All the doors and windows were open in the modest little house, the breeze trying its best to cool the air, and, while it made for a pleasant array of light, it in fact was doing nothing to lower the temperature and she worried that those uncomfortable pearls of sweat would roll between her breasts and get caught in her belly button. Oh how she hated that, frowning at the thought of it ruining her plans for well placed kisses.
Sip.
She twittered about the room fluffing pillows and moving items here and there, only half thinking about how a small bare bottomed blonde adorned only in an apron might appear to her neighbors.
Sip.
It did not seem to concern her.
Sip.
In her anticipation, she had moved too quickly through her afternoon and now found herself trying to pass the time. It was still several minutes until five and she hadn't a thing left to do.
Sip.
Off she went, to arrange another drink and barely was the cap back on the olive jar when she heard the familiar rumble and the small green roadster pulled up.
She snatched up the glass and moved quickly to the front door, taking caution that he would not be able to see her. She hid behind the doorframe, and carefully peered out the large front window. A smile lit across her face as his tall, slender frame appeared at the driver's side door. He walked up the steps, overheating in his brown suit and blue paisley tie, which he absentmindedly yanked at, yet never loosened. That was his only complaint about his new job, wearing a suit. He said it was too dressy for the summer season and teased that he would be much more efficient if permitted to wear old baggy undershirts and his funny suede shoes. Her smile remained as he approached the front door, stooping to pick up the mail that the post carrier had failed to force into the slot.
"Bugger," he said, as he sifted through the stack, pausing, the door slightly ajar, "what on earth?" and he nudged the door open with his elbow, his face buried in a now half-open envelope.
