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The girl was breathless when I pulled away. Her lids were heavy, drunk on what they poured in the club. Drunk on me.
Her forehead fell against my chest and she sighed. When she looked up at me, she said, “Fuck,” first and then, “The one who got away, huh?”
“You’ve got one of those, too?”
She shook her head.
“No,” she said and then grinned. “Though maybe I do now.”
I called her a cab and waited till the red lights disappeared down the street. Then I went back into the club. Back down the stairs. Back into the life I wanted. The good life. The free life. The life of no strings. No attachments. Back to fishing. Back to hunting. Back to shouting at someone who couldn’t possibly hear me.
What more could I ever want, right?
