We were sitting in the lobby of a restaurant, waiting for a table. He’d fetched me from work and whisked me off in the middle of the day. He knew I needed the break.
We knew each other well. Intimately. On so many levels. We’d spent hours together. In bed and out of it.
I was sitting with my chin in my hand. My sunglasses pushed up to hold back my hair. I was still blond then. I was gazing out the window. Looking at nothing. Quiet.
“Your eyes look marvelous today,” he said. “I’ve never seen them look so blue.”
“Thank you darlin. I think they’re my best feature. Physical feature anyway,” I responded as I leaned down to brush a piece of lint from the hem of my skirt.
“I disagree,” he said. “I think your best physical feature is your taste.”
Later as we sat across the table from each other a lull came in the conversation. I asked what he was thinking. He told me that he was thinking we should ask for the check because he wanted to take me home, throw me on the bed and eat me. Pussy and ass.
I signaled for the waiter.
And never made it back to work that afternoon.