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We met for a late-night drink. Just one. A martini, cold and harsh in an empty bar. We made small talk and allowed our legs to touch beneath the tabl.... Her bare legs rubbed against the fabric of my pants and I saw spots of colour that had nothing to do with alcohol appear on her cheeks…a tinge of rouge colour on the pale, oval face framed by jet-black hair. She put her fingers on my forearm while we talked, then traced her lips slowly with a fingertip. We finished our drinks and I eyed her. He wasn't here for the man she was trying to save, but for her.Despite this terrible realization, she wasn't afraid. She kept working, feeling her body taking over for her as her mind danced around these concepts. She was nervous, assuredly, but the character didn't seem to bear her any ill will. Whatever it planned didn't seem to be personal in any way. She quickly considered that. No, although the angel of death had always been pictured as a scary skeleton bearing a sickle, he was always. ‘I hope you’re not going to get up and leave, Ed. I’m so sorry.’ She began to get tears in her eyes. I’m a sucker for women with tears in their eyes. What was I supposed to do? I’d been falling in love with someone who wasn’t real. Simone, or whatever her name was, didn’t exist. It was probably only to be expected. I’d never had a woman this beautiful be interested in me before. Never. Oh, sure I’d dated some hot babes, but no one who could adorn the cover of a men’s magazine — and wanted. I’ve only kissed one person before. And it was Brian.” Stephanie struggled out, terribly flustered. “So, what, even after everything, am I no good?” Kelly challenged, giving Stephanie a playful pout. “You’re okay with kissing girls, just not me? Last night, when I proposed that three-way kiss, I only even brought it up ’cause I was… thinking of you. Do you really not like me?” “D-don’t do that, please,” Stephanie pleaded. “Do what?” “What you’re, um, what you’re doing,” Stephanie said. “I-I.
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