It was his smile that caught her falling. His little half dimples were like quotation marks around his ever-present grin. He was barely dressed; a bad bitch of sorts. He moved from table to table, regaling everyone with his stories and leaving a wake of joy as he did. She’d have to do something special to get his attention. ‘Maybe I’ll wait till some of them leave before I make my move’ she thought. Every time he was in her presence, though, he made her feel like she meant a little more to him than the others did. She could almost see it in his eyes.
“I feel like I can say this because I’m pretty much the same. You’re so short dude” she finally managed to say. He had been doing most of the talking for the past 5 minutes so she could barely get a word in. When she did, she knew it would have to be a conversation starter. It worked. He was locked in. The smile never wavering.
She could kind of get the sense that he had some depth to him. Somewhere behind the somewhat muscular exterior and pleasing face, there was a mind she was just dying to explore. He didn’t seem to take the hints though. This frustrated her. He seemed so sharp before.
‘Maybe there’s someone else’ she thought. As he spoke about how he didn’t really think of himself as attractive, she concocted a plan to extract this information from him. “I just want to know where I stand with people, you know. If we’re just fucking then I want to know beforehand so I can act accordingly” she said. Not only was this move going to help her find out his relationship status but it also planted an idea in his head. Check.
He was just so relaxed with his response that she couldn’t tell whether he knew that the conversation was more than just hypothetical. “When I like a guy, I look him right in the eyes and say ‘ngiyakufuna’” she said as she looked deeply into his ever-shifting gaze. They had been talking for so long that they didn’t realise or care that their entire table was empty.
As the conversation went on, she increased her directness but never let go of the hypothetical stage she had set. “I feel like I’m the guy macking on the pretty girl,” she said. His half dimples were showing again. He seemed a little flustered but very interested in what she had to say next. She touched him as often as she could but he rarely reciprocated. When he did, it sent sensations all over her skin. It felt kind of tantric in a way.
‘He must know by now’ she thought. They had been at it for close to an hour. But he still seemed reserved. His words felt filtered. His movements were minimal. His eyes never stayed on hers for longer than a moment. What was he thinking? How was he feeling? Was he aware of what was going on? His face gave nothing away. All she could see were some of his pearly whites.
“You should probably stop flirting with him, love,” said one of their mutual friends. The other had taken him on a fool’s errand. “He’s got a boyfriend, my dear. You’re wasting your time,” she continued. She got the sense that they were either protecting her or protecting him. Either way, it did her no favours. All that effort for absolutely nothing. She left hurting. She left without saying goodbye. She left without seeing the smile that made her do the one thing she thought she’d never do: take control.