Dating psychic guild
Strong and meticulous fingers gave testament to white-collar work, which seemed apt for his expensive suit fitting him to a divine T.
Marisa slurped up the metaphysical drool of desire cruising down her chin.
Marisa plucked the sleeve of her thin pullover sweater and grimaced.
Maybe the rain promised to erase the sense of evil riding her back for the last few months, or the sense something had set up residence in her body.
No matter what men said, they hated it when their wives or girlfriends surpassed them in the dollar department.
At least that particular trait encompassed the bottom-feeding men still living in the 1950s she seemed to attract.
“Some jackass assaulted me and ran off with my purse.” She flicked her hand in the direction the thief and his pursuer traveled.Careful not to touch anything, she fished hand sanitizer from her purse and rubbed a hefty dollop between her fingers and under her nails to kill the plane cooties.As she finagled the sanitizer back into her purse, the strap slipped off her arm.To top off his growing list of attributes, his mind was so blank, permanent ink refused to stick, his walls so thick her mental crowbar was powerless to penetrate them.
Unable to remember the last time she’d met a man with impenetrable walls, Marisa almost dripped into a puddle of bliss. Maybe he carried an umbrella too.“You’re my savior.Panting, he halted in front of her, a wide smile stretching his full, sensuous lips into the broad-shouldered, slender model territory of high cheekbones and honey-tan skin, sporting a light dusting of beard and mustache.