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“What can I say,” I told her, “I’m curious.”
She didn’t wait to cheers with me before hunching over her fresh mojito.
“Curious about what?” she said a moment later, almost too low for me to hear it.
“Why it is that you don’t know me from Adam, why it is that I clearly wasn’t the intended recipient of your little…explosion—”
The woman snorted.
“—and yet everything about you makes me feel like you know every little deep, dark secret about me, like I was exactly who you meant to—”
“Explode at?” she finished for me, turning her face and levelling her eyes on me.
I grinned. This just seemed to piss her off.
“If I tell you, will you leave me alone?” she asked.
“I think I’d rather you not tell me then.”
She looked surprised. I scooted closer despite the obvious disdain written across her face when I did so.
“The way I see it,” I said, “is that you’re like this burning fire right now. And well, I sort of like the heat. I don’t know what’s fuelled it, sure, but I like it. The way I see it, you’re offering to give me the answer and then send me into the cold. I’d rather have the heat and the mystery.”
The corners of the woman’s lips had begun to curl up. Almost imperceptibly. But I was looking for it. Wanting it.
I sipped at my whiskey and then added, “So, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer that you don’t tell me what’s gotten you so angry.”
The woman’s finger circled playfully around the rim of her glass. “Now I want to tell you.”
“Not good.” I shook my head.
“Not good?” she repeated, arching a dark eyebrow.
“Not at all,” I told her, leaning in conspiratorially. She eyed me warily but did not move away. “Because what you want and what I want are now at odds with one another. Now we’re basically in a war with one another.”
The woman grinned. I watched her lips as she formed the softly spoken word, “And?”
My hand came to her knee. She did not push me away. Like she liked it. Or like it was so familiar to her that she didn’t even think to push me away.
“And I’m quite afraid I’ll win,” I whispered to her.
The woman’s bright, clever eyes bounced between mine.
“I’m angry that you’re real,” she said.
“That I’m real?”
“That you’re real,” she said, grabbing ahold of my thigh. Far enough up that I couldn’t misinterpret. Low enough down that I couldn’t keep myself from squirming.
“I saw you in the crowd at the show last night and— It was only for a second, but I saw you. I see dozens of faces a night—just for a second—but I saw you. You stayed with me like a flash of light that stays on the inside of your eyelids.”
The woman’s fingers curled in the material of my pants. Tightening. Squeezing. Her eyes did not leave mine.
“And I thought about you. I thought about you being with me. About you kicking my asshole boyfriend to the curb. He thinks he’s Clyde. He thinks I’m Bonnie. He thinks he’s robbing the strip, but really he’s just robbing me. When he came down the stairs tonight, I thought about you coming down the stairs instead. I thought about you being different. I thought about me being different.”
The woman sighed and removed her hand from my thigh. I immediately missed its warmth. Its pressure. The blood it was sending straight to my cock.
There was a sudden flash of sadness in her eyes as she took my whiskey and downed it in one go. Tipping it back. Letting the heat roll down the back of her throat. I watched her as she slammed the glass back on the bar. As she leaned back. As she stared up at the ceiling.
