"I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice."
"If you keep looking at me like that we won't make it to a bed."
Late one night in a dingy New Orleans jazz club, where nothing of real interest ever happened, a fascinating sight occurred. Most of the patrons were too busy drinking and trying to get laid to notice, but some of the more observant could see what was happening and were entranced.
A man played saxophone in the band. He was middle-aged and distinguished-looking. He played beautifully. But there was nothing overtly special about him. The most remarkable thing about him was the attention he was getting from one woman at a table in the back.
She was sitting far away from everyone else, half in shadow as she sipped her bourbon. But that didn't stop every single person from noticing her. She may as well have been up on stage with the band under a bright spotlight. Her blonde hair shimmered in the dim light, radiating like an angel. But there was nothing heavenly about her. The air around her cracked with excited danger, like the light she gave off was full of deathly lightning; get too close and you'd die from the shock.
But she was unconcerned with the attention she got. The eyes on her from everywhere in the room. Her gaze was focused on the saxophone player. Her ankle swayed and bobbed with the rhythm. She bit the side of her bottom lip and exhaled slowly as he closed his eyes, holding a long, clear high note. She began to laugh quietly, as though she were in on a secret joke that no one else was privy to.
The band finished their set. The piano player announced they would be taking a break. The crowd applauded sporadically. The woman either didn't notice or didn't care. She kept her eyes hungrily trained on the saxophone player as he put his instrument away.
When he turned and walked through the room toward her, she finally looked away, focusing on her drink instead.
"How'd you like the set, baby?"
She shrugged. "You sure know what you're doing up there. But I prefer you solo. Giving me a private show."
"I know. I know that's all you were thinking about the whole time. You watched my fingers on the keys and felt them on your flesh. You saw my tongue and my lips on the sax but you wanted them on you," he said in a quiet tone, leaning in closer to her across the table.
"Is that what you think?" she replied coyly.
He chuckled. "I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice."
She glanced around the room, finally noticing the others staring at them. She looked back at him and bit her lip again. "Let's go to bed, baby."
He grinned. "If you keep looking at me like that, we won't make it to a bed."
She stood and brushed past him. "Fine by me. Go grab your stuff and meet me out back."