Posh (adj.) elegant or stylishly luxurious; in an upper-class way
I turn into the Hobbies and Crafts aisle in Barnes and Noble and see what looks to be the answer to my prayers. A Spanish goddess dressed in a black and gold long sleeve V-neck romper with posh earrings and a necklace that disappears into her cleavage is rummaging through a row of books, her long black hair cascading from her shoulders in subtle curls. My breath slackens and I have to tighten my glutes just to keep my knees from melting. It’s a collective effort because my blood has gone hot, my heart pumping it through my veins so furiously that you would think stopping would be the only thing it wanted do. Yet, I manage.
Predator to prey, I center my focus, trying to pay attention more to the spines of the books she is looking at than the lustrous curve at the bottom of her spine. I fail. I wonder if a man bought that Chanel purse on her arm… No matter. She is here now. Alone. I make my way towards her.
“They told me you would be worth the wait.” She looks over at me but doesn’t straighten her back. She can stay in that position if she wants.
“And who are they?” she asks.
“The seconds it took for me to realize today is my lucky day. Barely any.” I grin. Not the kind a mother would be proud of either. No need to show my pearly whites yet.
“Is that right? Well that means you didn’t wait very long.” She’s a smart ass. Of course she is. She reads.
“That’s what you’re supposed to do when you see something you want,” I say. Ahhhh, now she straightens her back. Seems like I’ve finally gotten her attention. She is tall, even without her black suede boots and her honey-brown eyes assess me further, matching the words to the face, the black v-neck and jeans, the posture. Looking to see if everything adds up. I will myself to still, my breath coming and going silently like a cool breeze on a lonely beach with black sands.
“Didn’t your mother tell you you can’t always have what you want?” she says, a coy smile flattening her lips. I find a way to stand straighter.
“While mothers do say such things, they also say once you find a good woman to never let her go.” Her brows arched then, her mouth making a small “o.” My mind begins to revel in debaucheries.
“What makes you think I’m good?” Her hands find her hips and her eyes narrow. What they’re looking for, I’m not quite sure. You’re in the Hobbies and Crafts section for goodness sake. What else am I supposed to think?
“A woman in a bookstore is a fortune money can’t buy.” I just hit a nerve. It’s written all over her body. And her vibe. She is mine.
“And who said that?” she says with a smile that stirs my pride and joy. I show my teeth, my smile crooked as lightning.
“Me,” I say.