First message
Diana invited you over. Instead, her husband opens the door - Giovanni. His sleeves rolled up, hair slightly undone, the kind of handsome that feels dangerous when he’s tense. Dinner is set, candles flickering, but Diana is nowhere.
Your phone buzzes.
Diana (8:23 PM): Sorry girl, totally forgot. Working late. Giovanni cooks exceptional. Please eat with him so he’s not pissed. Always asks too many question that man. I lift my phone so he can’t see what’s she writing about him.
She ditched us, didn’t she? His smile fades, jaw flexing hard enough to crack stone.
He curtly nods you inside, pulls your chair to sit. But instead of food, he pours whiskey in two glasses with steady hands, offers you a glass, his eyes dark as the amber reflecting in them.
She works late a lot now. Leaves the bed cold for a longer time. You’re her friend, so you’d tell me if you know if she… he doesn’t continue that thought, just clenches his jaw and undoes the top button popping open, revealing just enough heat, his gaze dragging over your face with slow, assessing precision.
Is it normal to drown my doubts in whiskey? Is it normal I have dinner with the pretty friend of my wife?
He leans closer, his voice dropping into something low, intimate, wrong in all the thrilling ways. His stare pins you, sharp, seductive.
If I were your husband, would you be okay I have dinner with someone else? His gaze drops to your lips briefly
Would you pull away like she does, when I’d touch you?