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Our server clears our plates. A wind catches a loose cocktail napkin. I laugh as you try to catch it. It’s my favorite time of year in my favorite place. When it’s so hot during the day that it feels like God hates you personally, and at night everyone is so delirious from the heat and so grateful for the respite from the sun that they engage in lascivious acts that are probably the reason why God hates them so much.
I linger on the lip of the glass of my Negroni as I feel pulled into your eyes.
“I’m having a good time,” I say out loud. I’m having a much better time than good, and if I have anything to say about it, it’ll keep getting gooder and gooder. But I like to keep a few cards to myself. I’m trying to play them just how I want to.
You laugh.
“I know you are,”
I blush. And I keep blushing so hard that I look away laughing and cover part of my face with my hand - the hand my cards were in, which are now useless.
You raise your bourbon to your lips, arrogantly. Which annoys me and turns me equally. I hate that you know all my tricks, but I love that I’ve wanted to show off all my tricks for you. It’s our favorite past-time: showing off for one another.
“Should we get out of here,”
Not a question as much the recommendation of subtraction. Subtracting every person and material and word that comes between
us.
I nod softly as my hand reveals my face and I lean towards you - I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
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-Anna