Muse

He sat there while she looked over his office. She put her arms around him and held him warmly. “What a cozy little place,” she said, kissing him on the neck.

“That’s not what I said,” she said, looking over his shoulder. “And since when do I hold you warmly and kiss you on the neck? What kind of story is this?”

“Stop arguing with me,” he said, and she smiled, and put her hand on his shoulder possessively while his creative muse flowered.

“For God’s sake, no,” she cried. “I’m leaving.”

But she stayed, because she couldn’t leave him. Not like that. Not with so many words unsaid between them.

“Ew,” she said. “Or howabout, ‘Goodbye?’ Is that a word between us enough for you? Because it’s enough for me.” And she stormed out.

But she secretly yearned for him.

“I do not!” she yelled from down the hall.

This entry was posted in Fiction and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *