A Night in a Year: 12. Banter

“I’m friends with flakey people who think that I don’t mind waiting alone for half an hour in the human equivalent of a tropical fish tank.” He eyes the neon light skirting the ceiling. “Bit plastic for me.”

“There’s no water,” she says. “Not really much of a tank without it.”

He holds up his glass. “But plenty to drink, thank Christ.” He swings it back, taking a long gulp. His irritation could get tedious, but she needs to wait a bit longer before dismissing him.

She rolls one shoulder forward, only a little, and says over the bare skin of it, “Perhaps you need new friends.”

He smirks. “Perhaps. And you? You waiting for someone?”

“Someone… interesting.”

“Ah, well. Has he arrived yet?”

She likes how he’s intuited that she’s not waiting for a female friend.

“I don’t know. I could wait for him all night. Or maybe he’s already here…” She lets her voice trail off as her fingers dance around the stem of her cup. She trips them up and down, and she sees that he’s look, and presses harder, like she’s playing with the slenderest of cocks.

The tip of his tongue slips between his lips, briefly, and he rolls back below his teeth, breaking into a light leer.

“I see.” He tilts his head back, eyes a little hooded as he examines her. She doesn’t move, enjoying his gaze, keep her eyes on his when they are not traversing her.

“And what would make a person ‘interesting?’ ”

She shrugs her exposed shoulder. “Depends if he thinks I’m plastic or not.”

A quick chuckle. “Oh, no one would ever call you plastic.” He settles back again, elbow on the table, leaning so his fingers are on his chin, his tongue sliding out again.

What kind of a tongue? she wonders.

-
Next: 13. Closer

Image found on flickr, by digiart2001, used under the Creative Commons License.

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