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So thanks to #writeNovember, it turns out I'm accidentally writing a psychological thriller.......... SORRY TO MY FANS EXPECTING COMEDY.
The following is an excerpt from today's work.
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I offer the pivotal piece of knowledge. "I live down the street..."
"You know, you've only had half your cider." Damn, he noticed. This man is such a predator that he's distracted from his need to fuck me by his need for me to be drunk.
"I don't drink much outside my home. It affects my decision making, and I wouldn't want to go home with anyone uglier than you." Doubt jumps into his eyes. Perfect. He heard that as an insult. This was a line I scribbled in my notebook yesterday, and rehearsed all of last night in anticipation of today's work. I watch him calculate what I implied: she's selective, yet nonchalant about one night fucks. Just safe enough to be dangerous.
I grab my phone and scroll through messages, trying to appear busy and bored. No one ever messages, but he doesn't know that. He bites my lure.
"Let's go," he commands.
"You have to pay for my drink first." Another carefully practiced phrase. I can't believe my voice isn't shaking.
None of these words are mine. They belong to some vicious tiger-hawk woman, determined to eat this man alive...a poisonous predator who likes playing with her food.
