You’re not always right…

I’m a bit stuck in my writing ways (let’s blame it on my muse) and when I saw todays’ Write Now prompt, I knew it was meant to yank me out of my writing rut.

So here goes nothing…

Prompt – 

He closed his eyes and let his head loll back — he’s gotten it wrong again.

 

“You’re not always right, you know,” she jokes with a smile and takes a sip of her Jack on the rocks. They sit in silence, staring up at the stars as the words hang between them. He knowing it’s not a complete jest and her knowing it’s going to get a reaction sooner or later. He hates being wrong…
 
He sucks on the Marlboro hanging between his fingers and glares at her sideways, “yes?” he says, formed as a question, that could mean everything and nothing, and she knows he wants her to elaborate before he gives a reaction.
 
“You think that I’m just messing around, I’m not. I’m not serious, but I’m not messing around. And also, old man… I’m not a little girl anymore, I can handle myself.”
 
Another dose of silence follows, she hates this, he knows, but he enjoys seeing the frustration building behind that ever-changing greenish eyes of hers. He studies her faces, trying to get a read, but as usual, he comes up blank. He usually pretends his way out of these situations with her, going about as if he knows her thoughts, but not really having a clue, good thing for him is that she usually shares it sooner or later, sometimes without even knowing. 
 
Another drag on the Marlboro, another sip of Jack and then he speaks, noticing that her eyes are on the point of going bright green, a sure sign that she is getting annoyed, or horny. He could work with both.
 
“So your point, crazy cat lady?” 
 
She rolls her eyes and he hides a grin behind his whiskey tumbler.
 
“My point, grumpy old man, is that you shouldn’t make assumptions over what I’m feeling. I am NOT in love with you, who could be? You’re arrogant, you’re selfish, you’re stubborn, you’re pretentious and you NEVER show interest. And no, what just happen in there,” she jerks a thumb towards the bedroom, “doesn’t count as ‘showing interest’. It just means we were both here, and willing.”
 
 “Yes?” he replies and she slams her glass down on the table
 
“What does ‘yes…’ mean? Say something!”
 
“You are too young. And naive. It’s not a bad thing. But at this moment, it’s not a good thing.”
 
She close her eyes and lean back, her hand rubbing the small of her neck, a sure sign that she is gonna lose it soon. He traces a finger up the seam of her jeans, and scratches back down. He feels the muscles of her leg tightening and knows, he’s got her back. He hates it when she goes on these missions to try to figure out what is happening. 
He enjoys her, and that’s that, what more does she needs? And even if she needs more and won’t get it, he knows she won’t walk out of this room. She never has before…
 
She grabs his hand and their eyes connect over the table, through cigarette smoke and mist.
 
“I’m done, old man.”
 
And she’s gone… Bewildered he looks around, not believing she would leave. Not her. 
But it’s true, she got tired of his games… 
His head lolls back and he looks up to the sky, to the stars she loved so much.
He was wrong. Twice in one evening.
First, in believing she wouldn’t leave
and, secondly, in believing it wouldn’t hurt if she did…
 
“I’m done, old man,” her words echo in his head as he drowns her with Jack.
 
Please note, the above is FICTION… 
 
Love Always,
M
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