“Hi,” he says, letting you in.
“I shouldn’t be here,” you say.
He nods and lets you in. You sit at his kitchen table. His roommates pass in and out of the kitchen, saying hello, gathering their coats, preparing to leave. There seems to be an understanding that sometimes they have to go when an important encounter is afoot.
“I remember this,” you tell him. “When I was your age. My roommates would vacate when I had a boy over.”
“And tonight I have a girl over,” he says.
You nod. Your eyes are on the one bottle of liquor on display in his kitchen. He grabs it and pours it and puts a glass in your hands. You down it while he opens a beer.
“So you’re here,” he says.
You nod, holding your already empty glass out to him. He pours.
“Can I just be a fun thing you did?” you ask. “A story you tell everyone? The older married lady you banged? You can even make fun of me. How old I am. If you just let it be nothing more than that?”
He lowers himself to his knees. His blue eyes are close enough to yours you have to down your glass to keep from looking away.
“I’ll tell this story,” he says. “I’ll tell it to you when we’re growing old together.”
“Oh fuck, man, come on,” you say. But his hands are already on you and you slip out of your clothes so fast you wonder if you were ever wearing any at all.
Happy Terrible Mistake Day!
