17 - Common Ground

WELL, hello, Zane thought, his inner skirt-chaser perking up. A little blonde was hurrying toward him on the Public Garden’s pedestrian bridge. The temperature was near ninety, for which he was grateful. The pint-sized bit of booty wore a strappy Harvard T-shirt with a shelf bra built in. She had great arms, slim but muscled, and truly mouthwatering tits. Jiggling on her ribs with the energy of her strides, they were no bigger than oranges but beautifully shaped and high. Her lack of stature aside, her legs and hips were great— precisely the sort of limbs faded blue jeans were meant to drape. Her hair was a Peter Pan pixie cut. Cute, he thought, and ideal for showing off her cheekbones.

Observing that she seemed to be looking for something, Zane stepped politely into her path.

“Need help?” he offered when she jolted to a stop.

She had big gray eyes, startled at the moment and unexpectedly piercing. Without warning, his throat tightened. For a second, he had the odd sensation that he k