"You want to do what?" Vic asked as he tried swallowing his water without choking on it. He watched Melinda, his old acquaintance, smile that almost wicked smile of hers whenever she got to punch him in the arm. That feeling was still fresh as she'd walked by him in the restaurant, unaware it was her until she punched him in the shoulder unexpectedly, greeting him with the same smile she bore now.
He should've expected the punch as a greeting though. Knowing her from years ago, both their arms were familiar with each other's fists. Since the age of 8, they were considered the king and queen of the Circle game, being the trickiest at making circles and being the least likely to be punched. But most of the time the king and queen were at war with each other, almost always on equal ground. It was kept between them mostly as Melinda thought the normal rules of the circle game were boring, and cheated by making circles wherever she wanted, mostly above the waist unlike how the game was supposed to be played. Only Vic agreed to playing dirty as well, as long as it meant getting back at her. Melinda being the hard-punching tomboy in her youth, and Vic loving giving as good as he got, they kept their arms consistently sore through their adolescence.
After middle school, they attended different high schools, colleges, and slightly different paths in life. And though they never stayed in-touch for long, they still met by chance every few years. This time she reached out to him via Facebook. And now they sat across from each other, grown up yet rekindling their combative nature against each other, or at least that's what she was proposing.
"No 'hi,' 'how've you been,' or nothing. Just straight into the game. In the middle of a restaurant of all places.""
"You seem to forget that we've already gone through some of the preliminary questions online. According to you, not much has changed, except for getting married two years ago. Congratulations by the way, in case you forgot that I already said that too via instant messenger. The way I see it, we're both eager to play. We've never not played the game over the years, and I think here makes for an interesting venue."
Vic just shook his head. "You'd think we could have both grown out of it this by now."
"Is this you finally wising up and conceding? It took you long enough to realize you don't have a chance. But better late than never."
Few people in his life knew how to goad Victor like Melinda could.
"She really hasn't changed," he thought to himself, silently acknowledging the same for himself as he reached over and offered his hand to shake, accepting her challenge.
Vic felt his hand jerked suddenly as she'd taken him by the wrist and turned his palm to face up. It was a normal reaction to look at what she was doing, which she counted on as he saw and felt a circle in his palm before he could look away.
"Strong start, as usual" he frowned.
"Can't blame a girl for wanting to make an impression," she told him gleefully.
"Are you sure you want to make a scene by having to reach over the table to punch me in the arm?" Vic asked inquisitively, hoping she wouldn't be bold enough. It would look strange enough to him, but social niceties meant he definitely couldn't lay a fist on her.
"Not to worry, Vicky-boy. There's more than one way to hit you."
She took his right wrist and brought it down to the edge of the table, firmly keeping it down while tracing a fingernail around the skin that wasn't pinned down.
"There. Now your wrist is stuck to the table," she suggested brazenly.
He looked at Melinda in disbelief, trying to decide whether this was more sensible or ridiculous than an arm punch.
"Really, Mel? Just like that?"
"Just-like-that. You can't move it, and you won't, so there's no need to even worry about it. You might as well relax that hand so the muscles won't be strained."
Fingers grazed the top of his hand, urging them to relax. Vic just looked at his hand and wondered why he should comply with her gesture at all, almost forgetting it was part of a contest. Once he remembered, he let her hand rest and decided not to put up any resistance.
"That's a good Vicky-b-"
She stopped mid-sentence as she looked down at his hand, happy to see it relaxed, amused to watch is fingers slyly make a circle of its own.
"Very good, Vic. You've still got the quick comebacks."
She extended her hand toward his.
"In all fairness, you can do something to my wrist if you like."
He gracefully took Melinda's hand in his, thinking about what to do with it. He thought about telling her to leave it in the air for a little while, a reverse punishment for her, but felt something that surprised him for a moment. He wondered how her skin suddenly felt so silky, and realized he might've been touching fabric he didn't see. Melinda addressed the confusion on his face.
"Like what you're feeling, Vic? It is silk. Sort of a trick up my sleeve. Matches my skin color really well, so when I offer guys my hand, they're surprised how soft my skin is to the touch of their fingers, or their lips if I let them kiss my hand."
That explanation sounded very much like her m.o. If there's one thing he always remembered about her, it was how she liked, probably loved, surprising people. Not jump-scare surprise, not usually, but surprising people with small details that made big differences. Kind of like how she dressed, still in a way that he considered tomboyish, but still drew guys' attention better than the women of the business crowd that surrounded them. Today she was adorned in black casual boots, jeans that hugged her sizable figure, a dark shirt with a fur-clad collar, an ovally-revealing neckline that gave a hint of cleavage and a purple jewel hanging on a thread. He liked how the wide, flowing sleeves moved like wind was passing through when she gestured. He liked the look of her burgundy lipstick and the scant blonde-colored curls amongst the brunette ones highlighting her face even more.
"Does it feel nice?" He looked into green, twinkling eyes, noticing one of the blonde curls fell between them. He let go of her hand rather sluggishly.
It did, but Vic wasn't going to respond.
"Thanks for the compliment," she said sarcastically. "I hope you treat your wife this well."
"No, she gets better," he said matter-of-factly.
"I would hope an old friend would get the same courtesy."
"I did notice, but I'm sure you get enough compliments from boyfriends."
"Not likely. They can have a hard time remembering whether I wear glasses or not, let alone what color my eyes are."
He looked down at his menu. "You switched to contacts, right?"
"No, lately I've been working with monocles, like this one."
He didn't move his head, but his eyes looked up to see a circle covering her eyes, the menu covering the scowl while Melinda's impish grin taunted him.
"Fortunately, you are more attentive than most boyfriends."
Her hand creeped up the arm stuck to the table, Vic waiting to see what she had in store next. Her hand seemed to get stuck at his bicep, just below his polo-shirt sleeve. He just watched her fingers play with the skin, wondering what she was getting at, beginning to enjoy the attention given.
"You've been working out more since last time, haven't you?"
Heat rose to his cheeks as she played with his right arm a little more before his eyes went to her face and that smile he was growing tired of.
"You're trying to seduce a married man, you know."
