You walk in here all gratuitous charm, flexing your seduction, locked and loaded for play. I brace to dismiss you but an argument rages in my skull. I could walk out of this restaurant in a second; ask the waitress to pack your tired stories of wanderlust and indecision in a Styrofoam container, take them to go and let them quietly decay on a chilled shelf. Instead I listen with relaxed shoulders and a steady gaze, but my hands tremble beneath the table. Or is it my thighs? My god, my god, you’re beautiful. Your packaging is so fucking sublime.
My 100 words on gratuitous as part of the weekly 100 word challenge.