Our breakup hadbeen mutual, and I'd watched him delete his version. Besides, we stilltalked and were on good terms. There was no way he'd have released it onthe web, let alone somehow tricked me into getting it airbrushed on mycar.Under the photo was a form with flowery descriptions of my features,written out like terrible erotica. It described things like "amazinglyample yet perky bosom," "face like worthy of the goddess of supermodels,"and "sumptuous curves to put a stripper to shame." Brushing aside theunwelcome pride at how well I fit some of those descriptions, Irecognized that it was all in my handwriting, even the signature at thebottom. The only thing off was the spelling. It looked like I'd written"Brian" instead of "Brianna," but with my sloppy cursive that wouldn'thold up in court."You sure do love yourself, don't you?" the man said. "Can't say I canblame you, but still." You seriously think I wrote this?" I snapped the folder shut and handedit back. "Why the hell would I. “You know that I was.” I whispered into her ear. She responded by asking, “How does it look?” “It looks good enough to eat.” I whispered back. She remarked, “Only to eat?” I answered confused, “What else do you have in mind?” My love said in a low sexy voice, “You will see when we get back to your place.” We danced until we began to get thirsty then made our way over the bar. To the bartender she asked for a Long Island Iced Tea and a rum and coke. We went back to our table and sat closely. We began to kiss slowly as her fingertips started to stroke along my growing erection. She calmly whispered, “Is that a roll of quarters in your pocket or is my touch causing that to happen?” I groaned, “It is definitely your touch causing the roll of quarters in my pocket.” A person behind us began to speak; it was the waiter bringing the drinks. After a few more rounds and five more trips to the dance floor, we left the night club for my apartment. Kate and I walked into my apartment.
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