WE MET IN LONDON.
I was at a friend's house,
bored out of my mind, considering having a third cookie.
He appeared, as if out of thin air, snatching the last cookie away from under my fingertips.
I watched, stunned into
silence, as his pearly teeth bit into
the ballet slipper pink frosting that coated the pale morsel.
He smirked, as if he knew I was upset. He waited until he had swallowed the entire cookie, then spoke.
His lips curved around the word as he let it flow out from between his teeth.
"Max."
"Isla,"
I said, not missing a beat.
I chewed his name around in my mouth, twisting my tongue. He was beautiful, but he had stolen my cookie.
I decided to loathe him.
"Let's play a game, Isla."
I considered my options: stand around the pastry table for another three hours...or play the game.
"Fine, Max."
YOU ARE READING
We Met In London
القصة القصيرة"Let's play a game." He starts it all. He dances around in my mind, laughter ringing in my ears, even after it's all over. ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ Isla has a way with words, not boys. After years of trying to maintain failing relationships, s...
