Like a Cat

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Watching her as she chews away, I stretch my legs under the table and turn my feet in circles. Supposed to be good for circulation or something. Helps me unwind, I know that for sure. She acknowledges me for a second, but she’s too busy devouring her food to pay proper attention. Grease dribbles down her chin, and although I think she’s a heavenly creature, yeah, maybe not right now. As she sits there eating in a frenzy, she resembles a cat that’s pinched a chicken from someone’s kitchen and is wolfing it down before anyone suspects. Y’know, like when it clenches it in its mouth and darts outside to the far end of the garden before devouring the lot, bones and all. Leaning back in my chair, I look at her with a smile on my face as she rams in as much as she can while occasionally washing it down with a mouthful of beer. You’d think she hadn’t eaten in weeks. You’d think she wasn’t much of a lady, but it’s just that nothing gets between her and her food. Not me. Not table manners. Nothing. Finishing off the last of my pizza, I think about going outside for a cigarette but decide not to. It’s a dirty habit after all.

When she’s finished, she wipes her mouth with a napkin and beams like a child. Ordering another few drinks, we discuss what we’ll have for dessert while playing footsie. At one point, she gets annoyed by my aggressive tactics and kicks me in the shins and I retaliate by calling her a whore. Mouth wide open in surprise, she scrambles up half a soggy potato from her plate and flings it at me, but I duck just in time, and it flies over my shoulder and bounces along the floor before hitting some woman’s handbag. Luckily for us, the old moo doesn’t notice. For all of five minutes she doesn’t talk to me, just sits there glaring, but when I grab the waiter’s attention and tell him to bring us two of those big chocolate sundaes, she sits up and bats her eyelashes. Reaching our arms across the table, we link fingers and speak without saying any words. Maybe if we’re not too drunk when we get back to mine, we can do our thing. You think? Grinning at her, I visualise all the things I want us to do, and as if reading my mind, she grins back, avoids my gaze, then meets it again until that grin becomes a smile where I can see each and every one of those perfect white teeth. Yeah, I think.

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.com

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