Guilty Pleasure

"Do you want to go for a walk?" he asks as he raises the cigarette to his lips another time, drawing in a breath of smoke. It seems like with every drag he takes, the more arrogant he becomes.

"Where, sir, would we go?" I tease a little, erecting my posture and purposefully looking deep into his eyes. I bite my bottom lip. Again, he raises his right eyebrow. I realize I enjoy intriguing him.

He paused, then exhaled sweet, white smoke out the side of his mouth never breaking eye contact with me. The energy between us is thick. I feel a small, secret nervousness in my stomach.

I can see him thinking as we stand there, deeply staring into each other's eyes, our bodies close enough that if I decided to reach my hand out, I could touch him. In that moment I notice I haven't touched him yet. I want to know what it's like.

"Why don't you find out," he utters finally. And with that, he turns around flicking his cigarette onto the glistening, wet street, and left. I stood in shock for a moment, wondering if he responded to my question or if he had read my mind.

I watch him walk away with such certainty, a confident poise I haven't seen in another man before. The rhythm of his leather boots striking the paved sidewalk echo in my ears.

I shudder.

I smile.

I glance towards the bar and see my friends still sitting at the booth by the window. All of them busy conversing with those boys from before, except for one. Irene is looking at me through the glass, her mouth open with shock and excitement. We make eye contact and she shrugs her shoulders.

I look down at my black boots then back up at him. As he strolls away I notice how well his back and shoulders make that old, leather jacket look. I like the way he walks.

In that second I knew, following this man would be the easiest decision I have ever made.

With that, I take my first step.