Charlotte.

"you can call me Charlie".

the character of a darker color. Russian navy, the color of a bruise. he didn't recognize me and it was a stunning moment.  to have him take a skip of the eyes and stutter over this person. just another person. French inspired and heavy on the kohl, beetroot for a touch of lip colour. leaving a few lipstick stains on the necks of those whom I recognize. 

she is new and he liked her. a lot.

public displays of affection were in order for the body language of us in this new environment. it still hasn't set in the surprise I faced when his lips met mine. 

"I'll get hers ... rye whiskey and a water, no ice"

"That's cool. I don't like ice either"

and plastic.. "I'll have none of that tonight, just promise not to shatter the glass".

the conversation flowed and with pupils dilated, we discussed many a things. no longer holding back what is inside. she is coming out to play. a black turtle neck and a well fitting pair of jeans can go a long way. and with an evolving look, one can assume that things will change. 

I like her too.