Baked Scribe Flashback : Mistaken Intent
He didn’t know how to tell her that the night before had been the extent of his interest. Nothing against her, but the sex was done, and beyond that, he would have preferred to not see her at all this morning. The only reason he hadn’t called her a cab the night before is because of the screaming fits of rage women seemed to go into when you asked them to leave at 2:30 in the morning.
This one wasn’t leaving though. She stood there in the room, tapping her foot on the floor looking at him expectantly, like she was waiting for him to do…
What exactly?
It was always a little awkward even though he had done this dozens of times. That was how the scene worked. You hit the clubs, pick out the one you want and bring her home for a little after-party party. Why couldn’t that just be the end of the exchange, with the transfer of fluids? He wanted her, and clearly she had wanted him the way she had responded to his advances. No need to complicate this whole thing with strained conversation.
In the midst of his dull recollections, he suddenly remembered her body pressed up against his outside the coat check at the bar. What was she whispering in his ear? He shook his head.
“Look…” he started, reaching into his memory for her name and finding nothing, “Look I don’t know what you were hoping for here, but—”
“Eddie.”
He stopped, again with a feeling in his gut that there was some key part of this exchange that he was forgetting, something that was important. Blank slate was all he could come up in his mental loft.
“What?”
She smirked and shook her head. “You owe me three hundred and fifty dollars.”
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