It was fifteen minutos to eight o’clock; House had a cerveza in one hand, while the other was playing a slow jazz number on the piano. He was dressed in a midnight black blazer, black corduroy pants and a clean white camisa, camiseta with a black t-shirt underneath. The lights were dim; his curtains open to let the moon light in.
An apprehensive knock on the door, made him hold the last note. He slowly got up, and walked towards the door; opening it with a smirk on his face. Cuddy stood in the doorway, her perfect curls barely touching her bare shoulders. She was wearing a strapless, short, black lace...
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