She came over, carrying a Nordstrom shopping bag. She wore a pale cream blouse and hip-hugging charcoal skirt, stylish despite the wet night chill of Bay Area winter.
I still couldn’t place her.
She sat down and crossed her legs, a seductive scissoring. Smiled.
It was the smile that did it.
I’d seen that same teasing smile in advertisements. That same flash of perfect teeth and eyebrow quirked just so. And those eyes. Dark brown wide innocent eyes that hinted at something that wasn’t innocent at all.
“You’re a Mika Model.”
She inclined her head. “Call me Mika, please.” Read the full story on Slate.com