God knows what that girl was saying.

I only saw a pretty face spewing conceit.

I do remember the dress though,

covering just enough skin to incite my imagination.

A deep scarlet that could’ve only been sexier

had it been lying at her feet.

I remember the thin strap, hanging reluctant on her shoulder

edging its way down her arm, like it felt my presence,

and understood,

begging to be discarded as intensely as I wanted to abide.

I felt pity, even contempt for my competition.

The poor bastards,

listening to her stories,

looking in her eyes.

The dress had more to say,

if you knew how to listen.

Like the hem: the front line, overwhelmed by enemy fire,

starting just above the knee

and retreating further and further,

responding to her every shift in weight,

revealing two tan, toned legs a fraction of an inch at a time.

Not wanting to stare, I started north,

rolling over her hips,

dipping down and peaking back at her breast.

My fingers latched tight to my beer,

aching in envy of my eyes.

Desire spread to my lips

as I roved over cream smooth skin,

brushing her cheek, tracing the curve of her mouth

and the dimples formed by a shy smile.

When I arrived at her eyes,

I froze

surprised

realizing that smile was for me.