Mark's heart raced. He sat stiffly in a short armchair as Lisa's nails traced across the back of his neck. He had told her he was very busy. Twice. What was this about?
Lisa's eagerness caused her poise to slip. She sloppily dumped red wine into a champagne flute and handed it to Mark. She didn't even bother to pour a glass for herself before launching into a display of teenage subtlety.
"It's hot in here," she said as she toyed with the ribbon of her black shrug. "Do you mind?" she asked rhetorically as the garment came loose.
Mark felt goosebumps rise on his arms. First she plied him with alcohol, now this. An ominous thought pierced his mind: Does she know? Is she setting me up?
"No," he finally replied. He didn't mind. He couldn't mind, or else she might suspect him. If it wasn't true, if he wasn't that way, then he wouldn't mind.
He immediately regretted his choice as she pawed at his hand. He needed to escape, but he couldn't arouse suspicion. A long silence passed in which Mark frantically searched for a solution. Finally, he shook his head gently and contorted his face into a mad smile.
"I mean, the candles," he muttered nonsensically. Puzzled, Lisa looked around the room. Mark pressed on.
"The music," he added. There was no music. She returned a baffled look. Maybe she'd think it was heat exhaustion. He was very busy, after all. Was she buying it? The silence was oppressive.
"The sexy dress," Mark uttered, then realized his mistake. This one was not so random. She looked down at her black dress and smiled broadly at him. He felt the noose tighten. His breathing quickened as he looked up pleadingly at her.
"I mean, what's going on here?" he asked as casually as he could.
Lisa lowered herself daintily into his lap. "I like you very much, lover boy."
"What are you doing this for?" Mark demanded as the adrenaline started to flow.
Lisa stroked his hair gently. "What's the matter? Don't you like me?"
A carnal yearning stirred below. Mark feared it would betray him. He had to end this now, before she saw it. Before he could no longer deny his desire.
Lisa still watched his face. "I'm your girl?" she added, hunting for affirmation.
Finally, he found his excuse. Ironclad, unimpeachable. He gently pulled her hand away from his head.
"Johnny's my best friend."