“Am I too easy for you?” she asked when I undressed her.
“Stop talking,” I whispered when I kissed her. “Life is a gift, it needs to be lived.”
Earlier that evening
We went to a typical Romanian restaurant. The place looked a bit crowded for my taste but she had booked us a good table. She had used her name which put a smile on my face. I know the times have changed but it still sounds weird when we don’t say my name to a waitress. Call me macho.
Anyways, I had only eyes for Josephine so I was in a pretty good mood. About time.
“35,” I said, “interesting age. Let me guess. You feel you’re more than somebody’s wife, somebody’s mother. You need to get back to you. Maybe that’s why you are here tonight?”
No answer. But a beautiful, mysterious smile.
“How are your Tinder dates going?” she asked.
“What? How do you know I’m on Tinder?”
“Your blog, remember?”
“Right. My blog. Well, don’t believe everything you read. I am not a journalist.”
“Makes me wonder what exactly is real.”
“You might find out first hand,” I replied before I caressed her hand. Much to my surprise it felt absolutely natural, which had been a while.
“Let’s get out of here before I touch you in public,” I said.
“Are you sure you want this?” she asked.
(Now what a strange question, said a little voice in my head. But of course I wasn’t listening.)
“I want you,” I said, “let’s go.”