It's as if he knew exactly what she was thinking when the door opened. She entered in a huff, letting the door hit the wall and bounce back just a few inches shy of her toes. She forced an exaggerated sigh and pushed back the hair sticking to her forehead, wiped the sweat from under her eyes and kicked the door shut. She acted as if no one else was in the room, as if he wasn't sitting four feet in front of her, sprawled on the couch reading or rereading or rewriting or whatever.
He looked up with a suspicious smile, "Hi, Gorgeous," and resumed his downward gaze. She exhaled a quiet, "Hi," but remained in the entrance. He'd already lost sight of her, focusing his attention on the paper in hand.
"Is your phone dead?"
"No, it's--"
"--because I tried to call. I wasn't going to come by--"
"Mmmhmm. Sorry, Gorgeous. You're here now, may as well stick around for a while." His gaze still glued to his work.
Is he for real? She thought. So "I might as well stick around"? What for? So I can blow him and leave? No fucking way.
She was silent and still. He got the hint, set the papers down and walked toward her. He put a hand on her shoulder, "Come on." She was stiff. He grabbed her ass with both hands, pulled her into his hips. Apparently so was he.
***