This is my inaugural bash at Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers.
“It’s kind of out the way,” he says, looking through the windscreen at the moor.
“I know,” comes her reply, over the sound of the idling engine.
“And you’re okay with that?” He asks, like he can’t believe his luck
She nods, “Less chance of getting disturbed out here.”
“Oh,” he says, and he smiles the smile that made her forget she’d promised her flatmate she’d stop picking up men in bars. Out here, she decides, it’s more of a leer.
“Oh, indeed,” she smiles. Though away from the sympathetic barroom lighting, it’s already more of a ‘why’.
He leans in for a kiss, and the whiff of Guiness and aftershave makes her retch. “You okay?” He asks.
She nods. “Why’d you ask?”
He pauses, like he’s not sure how to put it. In the end, he goes for ‘direct’, “You haven’t even taken your hat off.”
She’d been wondering whether he’d notice. “Been having a bad hair day.” She says, thinking it’s been more of a bad hair life. “Does it bother you?” She asks, by now, kind of hoping it does.
“Nah,” he says, “It’s kind of kinky.”
And there’s nothing she can say to that.
Small talk over, her conquest’s all fingers and thumbs and she’s getting to remember why she stopped picking up men in bars in the first place. So she does what she always does: she gives him The Look and she legs it. He won’t be calling her back in the morning.
Ten minutes later, she’s on the phone to her flatmate.
-“Steph,” she says, “I’ve done it again.”
Down the line, her flatmate sucks her teeth. “Eeh, Medusa,” she says, “You don’t half know how to pick ’em.”