Super Slick Duck in Plaid

ugh. he was sooooooooo fine.
i went out with the girls [JenBunny & Cheryl, aka "CherriePie"] &, if i do say so myself, i look hottt

& after a little while, i'd caught the eyes of a few dudes. but no ducks.

quack, quack, quack... bingo!

total duck spotting... no, not spotting... spotted! me! he started heading MY way before i'd even noticed him. there he was, talking to me & the first time i peeped his gorg face, he was already sorting out what line to open with.
i have no idea what he said, can't remember, but i'm sure it was balla.

blah blah blah.. 

we're flirting, drinking, doing shots, dancing a little bit, flirting some more...

completely wrapped up in the game...

& neither one of us is ready to fold.

the only problem with this particular game...
if no one is willing to give, then there are no winners. it's a lose lose if two players set up check mate.
you're both stuck, trying to make moves, drink'n down shots of liquid courage, swagga on the rocks, betting blindly while the drink dealer cashes in. Bars are like Casinos that way... the House always wins.
the duck & i... we're still in it. dancing around the checkered board, passing Go & collecting our $200. Rolling hard eights, & full on competing for the grand prize.

he gets handsy, i act coy. 

a cocky move, a clever comment,

he ante's off for me while i have a smoke, skillfully, stupidly, after he tells me he's a fire fighter [drool.] & that he "despises smokers"... [rude...].
whatever, he's hot, i'm def interested, but, hello... i've been in a long term relationship with nicotine for a while & he's not about to be breaking my vices in the first night...

deep rooted conversations that i can't recall a word of...

full on public make outs that are flashes of memories...

a first name & a fuzzy picture of a face to remember him by...

a phone number...

an invite back to his place...

i say no...

i tell him to come back with me...

he says no... 

[check mate... who's gunna susceed?]

he turns to leave...

he's out of sight, lost in a sea of pawns..

i text him...

boom.

I land on Boardwalk, & he owns it... with hotels...

mortgage my properties, cash in my chips, sacrifice my Queen...

he doesn't text back.

i lose.

he wins.

fuck.

...but... as my lent vow says, i will not stress over it. i lost this round, but he lost his shot. i may have folded the hand, but he didn't get a chance to see what i was holding, so he's the one that really loses.

 right?

luvs it*