She turned and sauntered, unsteadily back into the house.Marcel waited about sixty seconds and was on his feet heading to the door. I caught him just ...efore he opened it, with a hand on his arm. He seemed surprised to see me.“We need to talk, Slick,” I said.“What’s your problem, man?” he asked harshly, no trace of a French accent in his voice, as he jerked his arm away from my grip.“Problem?” I asked, “No problem. Not yet, anyway. Let’s have a quick chat.”He glanced inside then stepped back. I. And the incident goes like this, I reached her apartment at 6 in the evening with a Bottle of red wine and some dark chocolates, she was expecting me and was dressed to kill. Her dressing was entirely opposite of what I was expecting, she was wearing a dark red mini skirt and a tight causal white shirt, I complimented her and entered her apartment. We chatted about some stuff and then she said that she wanted to cook something for the occasion rather than going out to hotels for which I. More

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