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Rated: E · Critique · History · #1950815
Based in the 1920's.

He looked up from his watch, and suddenly stopped. Before him, stood the girl from earlier. From the dim lighting of the filthy corridor he could see she was engaged in an argument with someone. Taking a few steps closer , he realized it wasn’t a someone, but rather a door. If he had to guess, she probably only knew of the first password and not the second. Shaking his head, he moved closer to her, so close behind her that he could smell her perfume- a slight flair of floral, with vanilla tucked just behind it. “Last chance doll, the password?” Startled he looked up, and remembered why he stood so close “Moonshine” he whispered. Green eyes flicked towards him, and blinked slowly. Then suddenly the door swung open to reveal the interior of a dimly lit jazz bar.


Before the doorman could second guess the man who told him the password, she walked in quickly and then turned to face whoever had whispered the right password. When she caught a glimpse of his face, she instantly recalled him from earlier that day, when she had caught him staring at her. “Are you following me?” Silently she kicked herself for asking such a stupid question, of course he wasn’t following her. At that he quirked a brow and began to smirk.
“I do believe, thanks are in order. Don’t you?”
© Copyright 2013 Jenny Rose (wild--orchids at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1950815