For weeks, it’s been the same pattern: stolen glances, knowing smiles, fleeting touches in passing.
Every day, I long for him. Every night, I dream.
I want him – crave him.
He knows it, too. I think.
I resign myself to never fulfilling that need and just get drunk.
The evening wears on.
Refilling my beer, I freeze.
Heat radiates my body.
My breath hitches as I feel his breath fan across my neck at his whisper. “Finally you’re alone…”
I turn, confused.
Taking my hand, he lifts it to his lips, murmuring, “What’s your name, darlin’?”