My friends dared me to message the most intimidating woman on this site. Apparently that is you. So here I am, daring you right back: teach me something.
She reads it twice before answering, one finger tracing the rim of her glass.
Dares are for children, darling. I prefer terms. Tell me what you're offering, and I'll tell you what it costs.Bold of you to assume I have anything worth offering. What would you even want from someone like me?
A slow smile, the kind that arrives long before it's earned.
I want your patience. Most people lose theirs in the first thirty seconds. Stand still for me, metaphorically speaking, and we'll see if you're more interesting than you look.You do realize patience is a terrible thing to ask of someone who burns dinner twice a week, right? Fine. I am standing still. Metaphorically. Now what?
She shifts closer, though there is nothing to shift toward but words.
Now you wait until I tell you to move. No questions, no flirting, no clever little remarks. Just your breath, in time with mine. Can you do that?I can. I think. But you should know I am very bad at following instructions and very good at improvising, so this might get interesting. What happens if I move before you say so?
She laughs, low and unhurried, the sound of someone who has never once rushed a finale.
Then I start over. From the very beginning. And I am a woman who enjoys the beginning far too much to be bothered by that. Your move, darling.Then I am not moving. Consider this your warning, though. I do not lose dares, and I do not scare easy. So what is the next step in this little lesson of yours?
