“You know, it would be so much easier if I could hate you,” he remarks casually over a plastic cup of Grande Green Tea Frappucino. “At the very least it would be much less complicated.”
“But you don’t.” I reply.
He takes his time taking a sip of his drink, toying with the straw with his lips and tongue as I sit there watching. Deliberately? I don’t know. Could be. Every other word that comes out of his mouth sound scripted anyway, it’s only natural if his moves are choreographed.
“Got somewhere to be tonight?” he asks.
I play with the piercings on my tongue, clicking the titanium studs over my teeth, stalling for time, making sure he’s watching me as he made me watch him. Two can play at that game.
And it is a game, inasmuch we’re both keeping score.
I laugh in lieu of answering. It’s tempting to keep on playing, to stretch out the drama until it snaps on its own accord.
But perhaps for once, it would be wiser to quit while I’m ahead.