Taking her home (For the rhyme a flash fiction)

I saw her in the club.

Her cascading, shinning hair accentuating her attracting, oval shaped eyes-watering face.

She was smiling, drinking and flirting. Her mouth was whispering, her fingers touching, caressing the man next to her.

I knew she was a money scheming, gold digging, rich man hunting, wealth seeking woman.

I sat across her, starring, wallet opening, waiter-ordering drinks until she noticed me. My wallet, open ended, tabled topped, note popping had her in seconds bad mouthing, brain scheming of table changing tactics. I smiled as she swaying, flipped her finger at the man then bottom shaking made her way to my table and took a seat.

I tried sweet talking, line dropping technics to see if she would go home with me. “Boy,” she said, lip pouting, eye winking, “its not the looks am after but your wallet”.


I smiled standing, heart pumping, adrenaline rushing and lifted the wallet from the table. She stood, tip toeing, dress straightening and kissed my cheek. We left half laughing, both knowing we getting value.


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