Cigarettes

I was sprawled in a lazy way on the couch. The music was loud, her favourite band. She was leaning against the sliding door having a cigarette. She only smoked sometimes. I never smoked. I'd never felt the urge. But I was feeling the urge now. She pointed it towards me. "Try it," she pleaded. If this were a movie she'd be the evil temptress I liked to keep on the side. But it wasn't and so I declined.

I know I shouldn't say this, but the way she was smoking that cigarette was so damn sexy. Her pouty lips, pursed into a kiss. Her eyes lowered in a sleazy gaze. She was tempting. Half of me wanted to take a puff, just to impress her. She thought I was so straight and narrow, and what proof did I have otherwise? But I didn't. Partly because I thought I may get addicted to the smoke. And partly because I thought she may get addicted to me.

She liked them tough, mysterious. And here I was smiling in a goofy way, losing all my cred, if I ever had any. She thought I was cute, at the very least. But I was no enigma. Love had taught me to wear my heart on my sleeve and I wished it hadn't. I couldn't help but look. She was so curvy, and god her smell. If anything could ever intoxicate me, it would be that.

It was like the time she offered me a beer. And I told her I didn't really like beer, but I'd never really tried it. Her arm was outstretched and our eyes met. There was that sleazy gaze again. This time I gave in. I took a swig from her bottle. Partly because I thought this might be the only time our lips ever met. "Not bad," I replied. "You are free to have one," she offered. "No I better not." "Okay, stick to your water then," she was cheeky. I came back a few minutes later. Maybe I will have one after all. I took a few sips then left it overnight, I'd tip it in the sink in the morning.