by Amrita Valan
Slouching on the floor rug in the darkened room, he gawked at my legs. I was slow dancing with a friend.
After the dance I settled down on the floor. He throatily whispered, "You dance well." While my buddy got us drinks he asked my number.
Over the phone we clicked, instantaneously; he wooed me with wit and chivalry.
"So you liked my legs or my dancing?" I quipped.
"An inch of frothy white lace peeping from under your saffron dress," he delivered deadpan.
Burning cheeks transmitted heat through the receiver.
"Loved it and you," he sotto voiced.