Música! Melancólico alimento para los que vivimos de amor.
Julio CortázarTags: cortázar-rayuela julio
Sera loaded the new ammunition and held up the gun. “I bet I can hit closer to the bulls-eye than you can.”
Her victory came to him on a flash, right down to the cute little dance he was sure was last popular in the nineties. “Sucker bet, sunshine. Never wager with a precog.”
“So cheat.” She grinned. “You haven’t even hear the terms yet. If you win, I’ll let you buy me a pretty dress and take me out for a fancy dinner.”
“And if I lose?”
“I get a cheap bar, beer, and hot wings, and dirty sex in the bathroom.”
Julio cleared his throat, took the gun from her and winked. “Like I said, sucker bet.”
“Uh-huh.” As she stepped behind him, she trailed her fingers up his arm. “I’m bad news, mister. I hope you can handle me.”
“I’ll try.” He lined up a shot, squeezed the trigger and snorted when the bullet went wide. “I told you I suck at this.”
She laughed and retrieved the gun to line up her shot with adorable concentration that furrowed her brows. Her shot wasn’t perfect, but it winged the target, and her victory dance was just as cute as it had been in his vision.
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