She crossed her legs, seeking to protect what she’d come to barter. The cigarette remained unlit, a prop.
“What can I do for you?” I asked.
The way she shifted intrigued me more than her practiced pose.
“I won’t equivocate,” she started.
In the second taken up by her breathy pause I moved in, placed a finger over her lips, whispered her into silence. “You already have. You offer sex for information. With a look, I could have you under me. I may yet.”
Her eyes widened, only half in fear.
“Try a different approach.”
She lit the cigarette, coughed, and began telling her story, desperate to interest me in more than I wanted to take, but wanting me to take it anyway. I never tire of the guileless young. Pity most of them cannot remain either.