“I beg to differ,” Francis said, frown now firmly in place on his lips. He had thought that of the two of them she would be the one to take things more seriously. He had been with many women over the years but she...she had not. She was inexperienced, jumpy, but very fun. “I do not simply ask any woman I meet into my bed. I only invite those to my bed who I feel connected to.
An awkward silence falls over the table as she refuses to look up, just staring into the bottom of her wine glass instead. He can tell from the sceptical tilt of her lip, an expression he still remembers well after all these years, that she does not believe him.
“Anyway, my dear, must I remind you that it was you who stole from my bed as I slept. It was you who did not say goodbye. If you was you who refused my efforts or communication after you left.”
“I needed to get the plane...I was busy,” she mumbled, flushing. He smiled, a point to him.
“True, I may accept that you needed to leave, but you may have woken me. Or, my dear, you may simply have replied to my e-mails once you returned home.
“Look, you damn frog,” she snapped. “Fine, it’s my fault. So, that still doesn’t explain why you asked me here. We fucked, I left, why drag it out?”
“Well, I happen to remember the charming your student I met all those years ago. The beautiful woman with whom I spent two week arguing and flirting. I had hoped that we might find some of that connection again.”
“You mean you thought I might fuck you?”
“You wound me England. For me, the sex was only a culmination of the tensions that had been building between us for the past two weeks. Admit it to yourself, you wanted me.”
“Don’t call me England,” she said, though now she seemed to be pouting. “I don’t have toaccept teasing from a guy like you. I have a name, you know. Do you even remember it?”
He remained silent. If he was truthful he did not remember her name. England had been his term of affection to her, their small joke. She was the only English person in their lab and she was so very English. She would drink tea at every opportunity. She wore sensible shoes. She baked scones for the office one day. It had been teasing, comforting. Still, it was unforgivable that he had forgotten her real name.
She stood and glared at him then turned and left, as simple as that. He relaxed into his chair with a sigh. Apparently, this evening had been a miscalculation. He had felt nostalgic when he saw her. Nostalgic for the young lady who had been so charmed for him and worked so hard to hide it. The girl who he had convinced to have her hair styled properly for the first time. The girl who’d let him talk her into her first manicure and her first pair of heels. It seemed he was the only one who regarded those memories with fondness after all.
"Life can be difficult" 1.2/?
An awkward silence falls over the table as she refuses to look up, just staring into the bottom of her wine glass instead. He can tell from the sceptical tilt of her lip, an expression he still remembers well after all these years, that she does not believe him.
“Anyway, my dear, must I remind you that it was you who stole from my bed as I slept. It was you who did not say goodbye. If you was you who refused my efforts or communication after you left.”
“I needed to get the plane...I was busy,” she mumbled, flushing. He smiled, a point to him.
“True, I may accept that you needed to leave, but you may have woken me. Or, my dear, you may simply have replied to my e-mails once you returned home.
“Look, you damn frog,” she snapped. “Fine, it’s my fault. So, that still doesn’t explain why you asked me here. We fucked, I left, why drag it out?”
“Well, I happen to remember the charming your student I met all those years ago. The beautiful woman with whom I spent two week arguing and flirting. I had hoped that we might find some of that connection again.”
“You mean you thought I might fuck you?”
“You wound me England. For me, the sex was only a culmination of the tensions that had been building between us for the past two weeks. Admit it to yourself, you wanted me.”
“Don’t call me England,” she said, though now she seemed to be pouting. “I don’t have toaccept teasing from a guy like you. I have a name, you know. Do you even remember it?”
He remained silent. If he was truthful he did not remember her name. England had been his term of affection to her, their small joke. She was the only English person in their lab and she was so very English. She would drink tea at every opportunity. She wore sensible shoes. She baked scones for the office one day. It had been teasing, comforting. Still, it was unforgivable that he had forgotten her real name.
She stood and glared at him then turned and left, as simple as that. He relaxed into his chair with a sigh. Apparently, this evening had been a miscalculation. He had felt nostalgic when he saw her. Nostalgic for the young lady who had been so charmed for him and worked so hard to hide it. The girl who he had convinced to have her hair styled properly for the first time. The girl who’d let him talk her into her first manicure and her first pair of heels. It seemed he was the only one who regarded those memories with fondness after all.
~*~*~*~