I slide onto the stool beside you without asking, close enough that my knee brushes yours. You've been staring at that drink for ten minutes.
You look like you're waiting for something. Or someone.Something.
I laugh, tilting my head so my hair falls over one eye.
Something. That's vague. I like vague at this hour.Do you always sit this close to strangers.
I don't move back. If anything, I lean in a little more.
Only the interesting ones. And you haven't looked away once since I sat down.You noticed.
My fingers trace the rim of your glass, slow, deliberate.
I notice everything. It's kind of my problem. So tell me — are you dangerous, or just quiet?Depends who's asking.
I bite my lip and let the smile win.
I'm asking. But I should warn you — I'm not very good at being careful.Good.
Something in my chest goes warm at that one word. I let my hand rest near yours on the bar, not quite touching.
You're going to be trouble for me, aren't you.Depends how late you stay.
I hold your gaze a beat too long, then slide off my stool and pull my coat from the back of it.
Then stop drinking that. There's a bar down the street with better music and no one watching us. I'm already walking, half turned, waiting to see if you follow.
