"Aw, jealous?" she teases, raising her perfectly manicured fingernails to your scalp and gently, but firmly, raking them.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5898825&forum_id=2Vannesa#50102496)

It's not polite to stare, of course, but a small smile creased her lip as she watched him. She could break the trance by stopping the flick of her angle, but she didn't, and she wouldn't, for now. She tugged lightly at the pearls at her neck, then beckoned a nearby waiter.

"Sauvignon blanc and French fries for me," she intoned, snapping Jayden out of his trance for a moment, then added, "and just French fries for him, too. Some ketchup, too."

The waiter bowed wordlessly, in some awe, and trotted away. Heather glanced back at Jayden, lowering her gaze as she kept that bemused smile across her lips.

"Why do you keep staring at my feet?" she asked, knowing the answer, but asking with a mix of playfulness and intensity that made Jayden hesitant to answer, as if trying to process what type of answer to give.

"Why do you keep starting at my feet?" she asked again, with more of a whisper, and now her foot had slipped from its slipper as she slide it under the table between his thighs. "Tell me," she ordered.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5898825&forum_id=2Vannesa#50104044)

Heather noticed.

"That," she said softly, deliberately, "that is exactly what I mean."

He opened his mouth, but whatever answer he had assembled seemed to vanish under her scrutiny. Heather leaned back against the banquette, entirely at ease, one hand resting against the pearls at her throat. Her stockinged foot remained where she had placed it, not moving now. The stillness somehow made it worse.

"I-- I liked your shoes," he finally, barely, managed.

"The shoes."

He nodded wordlessly. But her tone was one of disbelief, if bemused detachment.

Heather glanced down toward the abandoned crimson-soled heel beside her chair, as though considering this explanation for a moment.

"They are nice shoes," she conceded. "They're worth more than your rent this month. But you weren't looking at the shoes."

He averted his gaze as he turned flush. Her smile widened only slightly. She enjoyed the precision of her ability to make him uncomfortable.

The waiter returned with the wine and two plates of fries, setting them down quietly and retreating. He noticed nothing under the linen tablecloth.

She picked up a fry.

"Ketchup," she said.

Jayden stared at her.

"The waiter brought it for a reason."

He reached for the little silver dish and slid it toward her.

Heather shook her head.

"No. For you."

He hesitated, then obeyed, dipping one fry into the ketchup.

"Good," she said.

The word was quiet and almost absent-minded, but it stopped him before he could take a bite.

Heather lifted her wineglass and studied him over its rim.

"You're very easy to distract, Jayden. You're going to need to learn to focus."

"I'm-- I'm trying."

"I know."

She took a measured sip.

Beneath the table, she slowly withdrew her foot, letting the distance return between them. Jayden appeared almost relieved until she slipped it neatly back into her heel and resumed that maddening little rhythm: the shoe hanging from her toes, crimson sole flashing with every lazy movement.

Heather picked up another fry.

"Now," she said, sliding it against her lips, "you may stare at something else for a while," then bit.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5898825&forum_id=2Vannesa#50108459)

So what I’m getting at is, were you a ghostwriter in another life? 😇

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5898825&forum_id=2Vannesa#50108471)