+TYPED OUT-

+WAITING/BAITING-

Kenneth fought against twenty reasons not to call Monday while Monday battled the twenty reasons she should forget him.

"Tell me what kind of man lets you get in a taxi and doesn't call to see if you got home. That taxi driver could have chopped me up and thrown me in the Seine ni vu, ni connu [neither seen nor known, french expression]. Do you see what I told you, Luce? The man just wanted to profit from my body."

"Monday, you profited too, don't tell me the sex wasn't good the second time around."

Monday crossed her arms and pursed her lips to mutter, "Koda kobaje [so-so, it was okay]."

Luce chuckled and clapped her hands, "okay, you say. I've never seen you daydream and drool so much since forever."

"I don't drool," Monday retorted.

"No, you just sit with a vague stare with your mouth opened like an airport waiting for mosquitos to land."

"S'onsiere ni? [are you crazy?]." Monday exclaimed and kissed her teeth while thinking of her little lie. Kenneth surprised Monday; she didn't expect the man who appeared stuck up to be such a kinkster, nor did she imagine what he could do with his fingers or tongue.

"Listen, Monday. I'm running late. We can carry this conversation tonight."

Luce left; she didn't want to be late. The transportation issue to explain one's tardiness was not enough for the doctor, who thought people should leave home even earlier. Doctor Watkins was strict, even more so than the other doctors in the service.

He inspected rooms and made everyone do inventories. Saving money was the first way to improve. The doctor wished for everyone to be more efficient. He preferred staff having shorter shifts to allow them to rest than having nurses and doctors look like the last time they got some sleep was the first time Emmanuel Macron was elected, and slim jeans were still in fashion.

Some were happier with the shifting tides in the service, while Luce had the impression of working more. Having shorter shifts didn't diminish the workload that still had to be accomplished in the time frame.

While Luce started her day, Monday sat in front of a blank word document. Ideas were scarce; the woman faced a writing wall. She wished to step out of her comfort zone, and she didn't know with what story she could do it.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to write."

To make things worse, Kenneth invited himself into her imagination.

"Leave me alone, Kenneth."

"Then stop thinking of me."

Yes, she thought of him. Monday thought of the man so hard she was sure his ears had caught fire. The woman felt a fool and almost ashamed. Why did she have the impression of having some unfinished business with the speaker?

In New York, Kenneth watched his alarm switch to 4 AM before turning to look at the ceiling. He had let the week pass before realizing his error. He should have called her; he should have done it before leaving or sent a text message.

That's what most people do, right?

The man wondered what state of mind he was in when he remembered, Monday flustered him. She bruised Kennths' ego when she pushed him away by refusing for him to call her and insinuating the man was baiting her for booty calls.

Kenneth felt cornered when the woman asked him what came after. Of course, nothing would come, at least not yet. They barely knew each other. What did the woman expect?