He leaned toward Sheila, and she leaned toward him. Their eyes closed as their lips puckered. He could feel the warmth of her skin as they drew closer. Then, the touch. Expecting the willing taste of her lips, he met the smooth, if disappointing, contoured wall of her cheek. He pulled away.
As his once rising passions gave way to the sinking dread of embarrassment, he fought with his injured pride. He knew Sheila. He’d never known her to lead him on. The quiet voice of his reason shouted over the booming din of his anger.
She was staring at something, he realized. Her body was rigid and cold. He followed her gaze. Looking out through the window, he saw that the rain had stopped. It had been one of those dull, drizzling days, and there was a meagre sort of sunset color to the clouded horizon. Then his eyes saw it.
Her vision was trained on the man walking away in the distance. He could feel the tenseness of her body, like the person sitting next to him had suddenly been replaced by a statue.
“Let’s go,” she whispered, putting her drink down.
“Where?” he asked, as she rose, her eyes never leaving the distant figure.
“Let’s just walk, okay?”
He rose.
“What’s wrong?”
She shot him a quick glance, her eyes full of fear.
“Don’t ask that now, just…” she looked back out onto the street. Again, he followed her gaze. The man, the stranger, was gone.
He felt a gentle, but very cold hand wrap around his wrist.
“Come on,” she said, pulling on his arm.
Tale Told 