Flash 52: Weekends Only

I'm doing a project
this year called Flash 52 - in which I attempt to write one flash
fiction (1k words or less) story per week from prompts I came up with
last month. This week's story will be available for one
week.



Week 6 Prompt: A couple sits at a table in a fancy restaurant, one dressed nicely, the other in torn jeans and a stained shirt. They seem to be together, but not, and they're arguing quietly about something...



Weekends Only

"You couldn't have cleaned up a little?" Drew glanced anxiously at the nearby tables and saw the interested looks. He shook his head at Courtney's worn, stained shirt and torn jeans. "Didn't I mention it was a nice restaurant?"

She rolled her eyes. "You said it was important, that I needed to get here right away. I was at the studio. There wasn't time to go home." She leaned forward, bracing her forearms on the table. Flecks of red, blue and yellow danced across her hands as they moved. They hadn't been there last week on the beach.

"So what's so important? Why am I here?"

He frowned, confused. Had she given him the wrong schedule? "I thought the studio closed early on Mondays. Did you want to go wash up? The restrooms are just through those doors." He turned in his seat, and pointed to the left, trying to ignore the gawking women in their fine jewelry at the next table. Is this how it would be at company parties, he wondered? What if he needed her for an impromptu dinner? 

Patches of green, brown and gray rippled over her chest as she shifted in her seat. When his gaze reached her face, she smiled, a sad, patient expression. "Normally, yes. Mondays I close at four. But I was engrossed in a project, so I stayed late. It's not unusual." She reached out to touch his hand and he flinched, not wanting the paint to transfer. Her eyes narrowed.

"We've been seeing each other for a long time now, Drew - nearly eight weeks. You knew I was an artist. What's really going on here? And you said this was important - why am I here?"

He looked away, the fantasy he'd created crumbling as he realized he'd done it again. "I've never seen your studio."

"Every time I invited you, you were busy. Weekends only, you said. That's why I rushed over here. I figured it had to be important for you to call on a weeknight." 

He nodded. "I did say that, didn't I?" Reaching for his water glass, he raised it to his lips and took a generous sip. "You don't look like this on the weekends."

She laughed, a sound that never failed to arouse him, and didn't this time either. "Of course not. Most of the time I'm not wearing anything," she whispered with a wink.

He finished off his water and set the glass down. "I think this was a mistake. Can we just pretend it didn't happen? We can meet on Saturday, like usual."

She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. "I get the feeling that how I look is more important to you than it should be. What's going on, Drew? Do we need to go somewhere and get naked just to have an honest conversation?"

Around them, tables went silent as Courtney's question caught attention. Drew resisted the urge to look. He could feel the stares well enough. His head was starting to hurt.

"I...we should go," he agreed, then realized how it sounded. "We should go talk, I mean. Somewhere private."

Her eyes blazed fiery hazel. "Because it's not polite to argue in public, or because you're ashamed of how I look?" She didn't bother keeping her voice low, and quiet murmurs started up around them.

"Please," he said, taking a few bills out of his wallet and laying them on the table. "Let's just go. You can show me your studio."

She shook her head. "I don't think so. You can tell me right here and now what's going on, or we're done. Tell me why you called me tonight."

Drew fingered the small velvet box in his pocket. "I was going to buy you dinner. As a surprise."
She leaned forward, her expression confused. "Why tonight? Why not Saturday, like usual?"

"Because today is my birthday. I wanted to give you something."

"I get the feeling that 'Happy Birthday' isn't really what you want to hear right now. Why didn't you tell me? I'd have done something special. Made you dinner...heck, I might even have dressed up if I'd known ahead of time. But why can't we just stay and have a nice dinner? Why do my clothes bother you so much?"

He chuckled in disbelief. "You really don't get it, do you? Are you sure we can't talk about this privately?" She shok her head again, crossing her arms over her chest. He mourned briefly that he'd never get to see those beautiful breasts again.

"Fine." He set the velvet box on the table. "I was going to give you this," he said, pushing it toward her. "Go ahead. Look."

She opened the box, and he could see the multi-colored stones sparkling as she turned it sideways. "It's beautiful," she said, turning it under the lights before she snapped the box shut and passed it back to him. "But it's not my style." She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "And that's the problem, isn't it?"

He nodded, slipping the ring back into his jacket. "I was so sure...and then when you came in, looking like that..."

"I'm sorry I can't be the woman who matches that ring, Drew. If she's what you need, then I'd better just go."

He nodded again. "I'll walk you to your car."

She was quiet until they reached her sedan, handing him the keys so he could unlock her door. Then he pulled her into his embrace, leaning her against the frame as he kissed her senseless.

"That was so good," he whispered, one hand slipping under her shirt. "Judging by the looks we got, it's going to be the most intense scene in the book. You were amazing."

  She laughed, pressing her hips tighter to his as he kissed her neck. "Thank you, but I think you stole the show on that one, honey. Now if I recall, you had a scene with considerably less clothing you wanted to try out..."

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