Ink Tales

It's All a Game.

A smile cuts across his face when I told him the government could go fuck itself. "You're feisty for someone whose height is 5'2."

I glare at him and immediately defend myself. "My height borders on 5'4." My ears are then blessed with his soft chuckle.

"Do you really go on dates like this?" he asks, catching me off guard. I feel the warmth tingle in my cheeks. Why am I getting embarrassed by his innocent question?

"No... my friend put me up to this. Thinking she's the master prankster, she set the account on Tinder." I don't know why I'm trying to defend myself in front of this guy. He's probably done this countless of times.

He's looking everywhere except at me. I don't understand why I want to meet his eyes so badly. "I think there's no shame to it. I think it's just the new normal. Meeting new souls. Playing your cards. Betting your chances. Hoping you'd somehow win it."

I felt like I already did the moment he regarded me with those eyes. So full of things I want to engross myself in.

My phone chimes, and I try not to look at it. His gaze falls on the lit screen. "You should probably check that. It might be important."

And I just wished he hadn't said that upon finding out whom the text was from.

"My date is outside. Guess I wasn't stood up after all," I tell him. "Lucky me."

"Lucky you." I catch his stare with extreme care. "Enjoy your date." He backs away from the bar counter and entertains another customer.

How? When I already felt like a winner in a game I wasn't a player in. "Yeah. It was nice meeting you." I scoot off the bar stool and before he could melt me again with his eyes, I turn and walk away.