zeitgeber The only time we'd meet, late at night under yellow street lights.
She texts me, "Done studying" and I make myself wait, leave her waiting. Can't let on I've been waiting up. Can't let on I'm so tired.
I'm off, timed after two commercial breaks. Our relationship so good for advertisers. I grab my coat and step out into October air.
I'm walking thinking, it's good enough to have her, hesitant as she is. Skittish and risky, impossible to understand, but good enough.
I see her before she sees me. She's waiting and smoking at the place we meet, too many filters at her feet.
My guilty pleasure, seeing her suffer just a little the way she makes me suffer.
Now she sees me. Her face is excited but she kicks up her heels and steps deliberately back. Her smile, impish. Her hair is disheveled.
I smell it when I get close, almost kissing her but I pull my face back. "Drinking?"
"Only a little." Defensive and whining. "What's it to you?"
I don't say anything. If she's off balance I might as well go in for the push. Her uncertainty is predatory pleasure.
