The Perfect Date
It was the perfect date, really. They both knew it would be. A new beginning at a small French restaurant, five star, she knew the chef. The hors d'oeuvres were splendid as expected.
She asked all the right questions that she already knew the answers to. Where do you work, what are your hobbies, where do you want to be in five years? When her companion reciprocated, she answered honestly, plainly, no lies. No more lies.
When dessert came – chocolate mouse, it was her favorite – she spooned it into her mouth sensuously. It was rich and cool and oh so smooth. It had the intended effect. Her companion unconsciously ran her tongue over her bottom lip and shifted in her seat. She could barely hide a grin.
It wasn't a secret where the night would end.
Two glasses of fine wine and an excuse later they were standing on her doorstep. Her companion fiddled with her hands. She silently tried to make excuses. It would ruin their friendship. Where would just tonight lead? What was Jane thinking about right now?
She made the first move. She couldn't take the silence, the tension, the waiting. It needed to be relieved. Needed to, needed to. What else was she supposed to do?
She remembers it being fantastic. In a physical sense at least. And when she woke up the next morning to kisses tracing a path up her neck, she couldn't hold back a moan.
"Jane …"
The kisses stalled. Her heart stopped, her eyes shot open. The woman on top of her, an old friend from college, just looked at her with sad eyes and a question on her lips.
Maybe just a few more lies.