I invite him to my place. I let him carry my bike into the building, admiring his biceps as he does so. We talk about books, and him being angry at a friend. We end up on my love seat with an arty film playing. All the lights are off. And he's not touching me. I flirt, crack suggestive jokes, he plays dumb. If I were someone who ground her teeth, now would be the time to be racking up the dentist bills.
I watch the screen,
(yawn,
rub my eyes,
calculate the time it's been since I've been kissed,)
as I will myself not to make a move.
Patience,
is not
my virtue.
I think I'm wrong about him. As he says goodbye, I see a spark in his eyes that says "Really? You like me?" and it lights in me an ember of hope.
