It was not difficult to find out things about her. She was an open book. The author of her own open book. He had read her collected works, a handful of paperbacks. Reasonably good. Moments that he was pleasantly surprised by, but girl's books ultimately, stories of love and redemption. Still he had read them. She was there at the edge of his circle. Firefly bright, not attractive exactly, but he could sense her potential. She could be something, this woman. She could be someone.
There were sex scenes in each of her books. He studied them. Highlighting the paragraphs. Little clues. She liked it when the back of her neck was kissed. She liked a whisper in her ear, or the wet sound of a mouth opening. It wasn't completely clear, there were inconsistencies from book to book, but it seemed like she enjoyed a little bite on her nipple, the back teeth engaging. There was no mention of cunnilingus, which was a shame because he would have liked some instruction on that. It was his weak suite. Still, she had given him enough to start with.
Chance brought them together. Chance, and some careful timing, a party, her favourite wine (another clue from his reference library). He had her in a chair and he was clever at this kind of thing. He could play it. Just enough underdog, a hint of humour, his sparkling combative conversation to engage her with. She would let him kiss her. He was certain of it. He would have to time it right but it would be a first step.
She was not particularly pretty, not young at all. But there was something. He had done the research now, it seemed a shame to waste it.