of finality

You step out into the smoking zone. Your lungs are suddenly filled with smoke, and your heart with anticipation. You haven’t seen A since he made a pass at you and though you do want to know how he is doing, you don’t know how to deal with him. You’re very uncomfortable.

Ironically, the boyfriend is impressed by how quiet and lady-like you look tonight. He loves the dress and the high heels. Why don’t you dress like this more often?

Only if he knew what’s going on inside your head.

of restraint

Because I’m attracted to you.

You’re still glaring at him in disbelief when he leans forward, bringing his face closer to yours, almost touching it. You’re heady with desire and the smell of his cologne. You’re worried your head might explode.

You don’t know how to react, and feel like you should punch him

of coincidences

He asks you what you want to do in the evening and the answer darts out of your mouth like it wants to break out of prison. Let’s go dancing again. I love dancing. 

You reach the club a little early. You’re sitting on bar stools, both of you. Your bar stools. It makes you feel sexier, though you know it’s ridiculous to be feeling sexy just because you always sit in the same place. You and the boyfriend knock back a few drinks. He holds your hand and looks into your eyes hoping to see love or some such, but you’re not feeling romantic today. You just want to drink and dance, and feel sexy, and nothing else.

The boyfriend is going on about something you have no interest in. You take his hand and pull him close and start to dance. You’re the only ones dancing, and you like that. You like knowing that everyone in the club is looking at you. The DJ is playing songs for you, only for you. You’re feeling so beautiful in his arms, so safe. Now he’s twirling you around like a spinning top and you’re dancing as fast as you can until you hit something. Someone. Remnants of what was a glass are scattered all over the floor. You are still wondering whether to supply an apology, but the boyfriend puts his arm around your waist and escorts you to safety. You turn around and catch the other guy’s eye. He winks and you blush. It’s the droolworthy guy from the highway!

You excuse yourself and go to the restroom. When you return, the boyfriend and the highway guy are talking. You step back inside and hide there for a while.

When you come out again, he’s gone. The boyfriend tells you the guy’s name is A., and he owns this place.

Fuck.

—

There’s more to this story:

Here’s how it started. I met him on the highway, and because we knew we were never going to see each other again, we flirted like crazy. But I couldn’t have been more wrong, obviously. I met him again, as you already know from this story. And then there was the dancing. So HOT. As is the case with all things exciting, things went awry, at least for me.  I think it’s finally over, our little game. It makes me sad that the chase is over, but such is life!

of flirtation

You’re driving to work on a lousy winter morning. You see bikes zipping past you, and that makes you wish you were on a bike instead of going clutch-brake-clutch-brake on a busy-as-hell road. You stop at a signal, and a red car stops next to you. The left side of your face starts to become conscious of being stared at. You get that a lot, and have developed your own version of a frosty-nosed combat stare especially for times like these. You’re startled by what you see. It’s a good looking guy wearing really hot sunglasses, not a middle-aged man or a jatt/gujjar boy. Your face lights up. Visibly. Shit. He can see that I am flattered.

He smiles at you and you