Crystal Balls Read Online Free

beats tap water which was all I could afford once upon a time!
    “Can I get you something to drink?”
    I look up to observe a handsome young man, wearing fitted black trousers with a tight black T-shirt tucked in, accessorised with an eagle-head cowboy buckle. Yum. Only a guy with his firm
young torso has the ability to wear this worn, slightly faded uniform which would make anyone else appear dowdy and bland. Although the trousers do seem a bit tight though – you know, around
the . . .
    “Sorry . . . did you want to order a drink?” he muses, shifting uncomfortably. Hardly surprising wearing pants at least a size too small.
    Oh my God, snap out of it, Tina. Eye contact above crotch level. Quickly.
    I focus my eyes on the brass-and-silver-plated buckle, pretending to have been taken by it.
    “Yes, thank you.” I put on my best business voice just to show I am not a complete idiot. “I’ll have a sparkling water, please.” I clear my throat. “Nice
belt.”
    He acknowledges this with a smile, somewhat amused at my lobster-coloured face and neck. I’ll bet he wears those pants deliberately. He must rake in the tips. I might just start
frequenting this place after investing in a purchase of green compact. I hear it does wonders for hiding blotches of colour and with that bulge just inches from my eye-line, where else is a girl
supposed to look?
    My papers have been efficiently arranged on the plywood coffee table in front of me. Cleverly enough to allow my eyes to glance down at the material in the event of short-term memory loss, but
discreetly enough to hide confidential information which I know Brian would not like to be broadcast. Not at this stage anyway, but soon enough he’ll be expecting one of us applicants to
shout it from the rooftops. Literally. Let’s hope it’s me.
    Looking around, I reassess my choice of table. Most of the seats are backless brown-leather stools which are fine for a short time, although for longer periods the soft leather
chocolate-coloured sofas look incredibly inviting. The problem with those is that you have to sit right back, languishing in their total comfort and running the risk of an element of complacency
setting in as you drift into a soporific state. Or you can attempt to stay alert by perching awkwardly on the edge as your knees shake from the exertion of supporting your weight, which you pretend
is light as a feather. What a choice!
    Attempting to impress Brian Steen with intricate detail, I opt for the stools, placing them opposite each other so we can make clear eye contact, observe each other’s body language head on
and share our material intimately but professionally.
    Oh God, I should have gone for the sofas! Too late now.
    My heart thumps heavily and an intemperate dizziness hits me.
    I watch him glide across the floor, moving with the natural grace and sophistication of an Arab sheikh, and in one seamless motion he is standing before me with his coat slung casually over his
arm. I’m almost breathless, and standing up in anticipation of my impressively firm handshake (another Tina trademark), takes all my energy . You can do it. You can do it.
    Brian launches his masculine hand in greeting and taking a solid grip of my, by comparison, feeble one, he locks his eyes with mine. The corners of his mouth flicker affably but it is his eyes
that carry the weight of his smile, authentic and sincere.
    Refusing to be intimidated, I attempt to take control of our first encounter.
    “Pleased to meet you,” we chorus.
    Damn.
    Brian laughs, letting go of my hand. “Great minds think alike, Miss Harding.” His eyes sparkle. What a beautiful colour! Neither green nor blue, but crystal clear in the centre and
whiter than white on the outside. Almost edible, if you’re into that sort of thing? Perhaps they could make sweets just like them, only tasting better of course. Aqua drops. I bet
they’d sell quite well.
    “You could say idiots never differ,