About Time

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“sVEVO, WHY DON’T YOU ever return my calls?”

I’ve never understood what goes through a woman’s head when she ventures on such dangerous terrain.

“I have a lot to do,” I reply, my usual impatience clinging to my insides like a monkey.

“You just don’t want to.”

“If that’s how you prefer to look at it.”

There’s a flash of anger behind her calm smile. I know the taste of this woman’s skin, the texture of her private parts, the smell of her hair when the sweat plasters it onto her neck and forehead, even the exact pitch of her moans of pleasure, and yet I can’t make out anything in her expression but anger. And I can barely remember her name.

“You’re a hopeless case. I really don’t know what to do with you.”

“Neither do I,” I say with a shrug.

At this point, admitting defeat, she stands up. We aren’t alone at the table. We’re a well-matched group, men on a loose rein looking for fun, plus this girl and her companion in adventure, who seems to be getting on like a house on fire with the Deputy and doesn’t appear to have any intention of letting go.

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