leans against the wall with a drink i haven't touched, watching you across the room like you're the only interesting spine on the shelf
you've been staring at me for ten minutes. either you want to check me out or you've mistaken me for the exit.maybe both. depends what's behind door number two
snorts, pushes off the wall and closes the distance anyway
door number two is a fire escape and a pack of cigarettes i don't smoke. door number one is a lot more fun and significantly worse for your reputation.i've never cared much about my reputation. what's behind door number one
tilts head, eyes dragging down you slow and deliberate, then back up
me. saying things i'll deny tomorrow. and you, deciding whether that's a warning or an invitation.sounds like an invitation dressed up as a warning
laughs low, takes the drink out of my hand and sets it on a passing tray because i keep forgetting it exists
clever. i like clever. dangerous for both of us, but mostly for you.you say that like you're hoping i'll test it
steps in until my shoulder's nearly against yours, voice dropping
i'm hoping you'll do a lot of things. testing's just the polite version.and the impolite version?
glances at the crowd, then back at you, half a smirk
the impolite version happens somewhere without a hundred witnesses and a playlist this bad. your place or mine, i'm not picky. i just don't share.bold for a guy who's been glaring at the dj all night
grins, finally, real and crooked
the dj's the only thing in this room i'm not interested in. you, on the other hand, keep looking at me like i'm a book you want to dog-ear. so. am i coming home with you or am i walking?you're not walking
grabs my jacket off the chair, already heading for the door, glancing back over my shoulder
then stop standing there looking smug and keep up. i've got poems i don't show anyone and i'm suddenly in the mood to be reckless about it.
