Posted in 365 Days of Bri (Bri 2.0), Fiction

[Day 358] Story Start week 7: Cheats

Writer’s note: My dad is crap at coming up with ideas so whatever. This is just a brain diarrhea while at Borders.

I sipped my already lukewarm coffee while browsing the magazine rack. The man I was tailing had settled himself into a corner chair with his laptop and I had a feeling it would be a while before I moved again.

There weren’t any interesting genres to pick from, so I grabbed a gardening magazine and sat directly across from the young man, Ken Long. He was bouncing his head to what I assumed was music pulsing through his headphones. I sighed quietly and started the only interesting looking article, something about zen gardens. Yes, the magazine was that bad.

Long stayed in his seat, tapping away at his keyboard, for over two hours. Then, I presumed his wildly out of date laptop ran out of batteries. With an exasperated frown, he packed away his things and stood to leave.

I flipped through my magazine nonchalantly as he glanced, appraising me. This was to be expected, and it was exactly what I had been waiting for. I had really gone the extra mile for my latest client, wearing a pale yellow sundress that accentuated all the right places and a push up bra that gave what already made heads turn even more noticeable. I ignored Ken Long, skimming the article on herb gardens.

“Hey there.” I looked up just in time to catch the smarmy wink. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing reading a gardening magazine?”

Is that really the best you can do? April should have dumped you months ago. “I like the flowers.” I remarked simply. It wouldn’t take much to keep the ruse going. Ken didn’t look particularly intelligent.

“Well, what would you say to dinner tonight, if I promised to bring roses?”

Gotcha. “I’d say that roses are passe and that April, we got him.” I tapped the plastic headband, my hidden microphone, to turn it off. I’d gotten what I needed.

“Wai-what? Do you… know April?” I understood what he meant. April was a punk rocker, and in my slut disguise, it didn’t like we’d cross paths. In fact, even in normal clothing it wouldn’t look like it. But the nature of our relationship was professional rather than casual.

“April is my client, and you’re disgusting. Have a nice day.”

What's up, my dudes?