This was taught by a wiry, silver-haired man named Julio, who had been a professional wingman in Vegas before finding enlightenment.
I laughed out loud. Then I enrolled.
"Claire."
By week three, I could enter a coffee shop and let my gaze rest on a younger man without looking like I was calculating his grocery bill. It was a soft power. A slow-blooming confidence. my cougar courses
I spotted him at the bar. Early thirties. Broad shoulders. A worn paperback sticking out of his jacket pocket—not a prop, but an actual, dog-eared copy of Beloved. He was ordering a ginger ale. This was taught by a wiry, silver-haired man