She looked over her shoulder from the kitchen, trying to catch his eye as she mixed the drinks. She wanted him to be watching her, she wanted to feel his gaze upon her, but he was playing it far too cool, flicking through the book she had left casually on the table.
She smiled to herself, and turned her attention back to the drinks while trying to work out how he would react to a book of erotic photographs on her coffee table. Would he assume that she was liberated, or wonder if she was an artist of some kind. They had only just met; there was still ample room for assumption and bias to play a role in the end of the evening. Perhaps he would simply be turned on by the pictures or better still he might be turned on by the idea that she found them arousing.
She turned back to the living room, the drinks in her hands, and could not resist trying to sneak a look between his legs to see if the book was doing its work.
He caught her eye and smiled, laying the book aside so that she had a clear view; she smiled.
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