By Jeffrey A. Paolano
I angle my chair at the euchre table to maintain a clear view of Vanessa. My initial introduction to the lass was but minutes ago, and the resultant pulsate still drums within my chest.
In distraction I mislay a left bower; my partner scowls his displeasure.
Voluptuous is the word: none other will do. Vanessa is coy but wears the attribute well, employing the atypical effects liberally.
As stratagem, I bethinks advances will be best pursued after supper, in the evening’s shank.
“Vanessa is certainly game. I’m gonna take a run at that after dinner,” intrusively proclaims Tommy, a cocksure sumbitch.
Just when you get ready to make a pitch–the competition drops in! This is a good one, Jeffrey!