"Because I don't see you working at the counter, you're a pole dancer, aren't you?" I'm surprised you've watched me." I raised one of my brows, trying...to hide my blush in my brunnete curls. He smiled. "So a pole dancer?" He asked and I began to get paranoid. "Yep. Just a drinking, dancing, fucking pole dancer." I said, grabbing my note pad I'd put onto his desk. "Prove it." He grinned and I glanced up at him. He walked over to the other side of the room, shutting the doors, closing the blinds. Hopelessly plain, ordinary Ronni. Look up "brown-haired girl" in the dictionary, and there's Ronni. Not memorable in any fashion at all, at least from the outside. Five-six, a hundred thirty, maybe forty, brown eyes. Face was freckled, prominently. Hair was brown. Just brown. Not blonde. Not red. Not jet black. Brown. Quirky smile, though, with slightly crooked white teeth. And a nose with a non-standard kink in it. She'd finally passed through puberty in a fit of lankiness and came out the. More

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