She didn’t even knock this time. Just turned the radio up and sent a group-chat screenshot that said “congratulations I guess”. Fair.
Tag: desire
He asked me not to write it. I said I wouldn’t use his name. I didn’t. Everything else is fair game. That’s the deal.
So we didn’t wait. Coat still on. His hand over my mouth because the attendant was two feet away pretending not to exist.
Everyone filed out. We didn’t. The sprinklers never came on. Anti-climax in every sense except the one that mattered.
His place in Dalston. Door wasn’t locked. Mate stood there for a second, laughed, then asked if we wanted a beer. We kept going. I came looking at the ceiling.
It smelled like him and a club and bad decisions. Sophie asked if I was “keeping souvenirs now”. I am. Obviously.
Not naming him. You’d know the face. Took me to the hotel next door, barely spoke, fucked like he had a match in the morning. Left a shirt. I kept it.
Posted the wrist, the drink, not the face. Three people guessed wrong. The right one liked it anyway. Delulu works.
Hallway. Shoes still on. Someone’s Amazon parcel as a pillow. Romance is dead and I’m throwing the funeral.
She asked. I said yes because I’m nosy and horny. He didn’t touch me, just sat there. Weirdly hot. She texted the next day like we were booking lunch.