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He's sat, all smug smiles and effortless winks, legs spread out across the sofa, a beer in one hand, my heart in the other. Betty is pressed into one side; Veronica on the other, putting on a show just to get to me.
My red dress is bunched up around my thighs as I sit at the bar - a martini in hand. This is the usual Friday night game of are we? or are we not, in which Archie eventually makes his way to me at the end of a night, after flirting and socialising with other girls - spewing love confessions and pressing kisses into my neck.
I'm tiring. The game is tiring and I'm running out of patience.
His eyes meet mine and flit over my body, his tongue swipes out across his bottom lip as he lifts his beer in greeting. I promise myself that I won't go home with him tonight - don't give in, don't put out.
His flushed body falls onto the bed beside me, a sheen of sweat spread across his skin. He kisses me, lips like petals. Nuzzles his head into my neck and presses me into his chest, showering me in affections. But how can he love me when I know in the morning i'll wake up to a cold empty bed.
And now he's got his arms wrapped around me, the other girls forgotten. He unabashadly indulges me in all my favourite quirks, the way only he knows will turn my willpower into ashes. I give in. Letting him pull me out of the party, into the cab and into his flat.
I run my hands across the plaines of his chest, pushing his dress shirt down his shoulders. A mess of lips and teeth and tugging. I back myself up onto his bed, my clothes strewn on the floor around us. He kisses me again and I tug his boxers down, laying back as his moves with me.
Then he is everywhere, and I'm everywhere. Now we're back at the start.
