Honey trap

October 10, 2007

And bang!, he was off running. He’d known something wasn’t right as soon as she showed up, looking like a million bucks in used twenties. She had the sexy clothes and slightly dishevelled look that he knew she knew all men went crazy for, the red dress not quite short enough to be slutty, with the strap falling away a little from one shoulder, hair a little off kilter as if she was just out of the shower and hadn’t had time to comb it.

Honey trap. Classic honey trap. He had no idea why anybody would want to ensnare him, and he didn’t think he knew anyone who’d do it in a more sophisticated way than a skill-lessly placed bludgeon to the back of the head in a dark alley. She needed some kind of help (he hadn’t been listening all that hard; as soon as he realised it was wrong his mind was split in even parts between figuring out an escape route and enjoying the view. As soon as she got to “so, can I use your phone?” he’d managed a nimble sidestep and off he went, like a top sprinter out of the blocks.

Or at least, that was his intent. He was aware that he wasn’t a top sprinter – he’d have been happy with a snappish jog as long as it got him to the end of the corridor before little miss honey could kick off her high heels and give chase. Unfortunately for Brad Madison, the slight pins and needles he had suffered on standing to answer the door had swiftly turned into a serious case of collapsing knee. Combined with the recently-polished surface of the hallway outside his apartment, this turned into an embarrassing thud followed by a comical, spinning slide stopped only when he banged his head on his neighbour’s door. It swung slowly open as he hobbled to his feet and little miss stood in his own doorway, phone in one hand, the other on her hip. She mouthed, “what on earth are you doing in my apartment?”, held up a finger to indicate she was listening to someone, and shook her head sadly.

“You make,” she said, once she’d finished the call, “one hell of an odd first impression.”

Winded, Brad was sitting up by now, trying to crack his neck and rub his bruised head at the same time. “So,” he said with a sheepish grin, “are you going to invite me in?”

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