Dallas-Dinner

"So you've got the night off," I asked hesitantly this afternoon talking to Emily on a break.

"Yea, finally, no studying. I've got a bunch to do over the weekend, but nothing tonight."

"I'm just sitting home tonight," I sighed, missing her so much.

"I'm sorry, baby," she said, probably about half sincere.

"You? You just sitting home tonight, too? We could talk while we're cooking.

Nerves, nerves, shooting throughout my body, nerves, hoping, unsure, unprepared, expecting.

"I ah, that sounds like fun, really, but, well...Todd kind of asked me to dinner. His roommate is going home for the weekend, so he's all alone and, well..."

"Oh," I said, disappointed, not surprised, suddenly anxious and excited and, fuck, scared.

"I didn't want to think of him sitting at his apartment all by himself."

"Where are you going? I thought the weather was bad down there?"

"Yea, it is, there's like a winter storm warning; they don't do snow too well down here. So, well, he asked me to come over; he's going to cook."

Silence. Growing silence. Figuratively, between us, literally, in the cage.

"Sara..."

"Yea?"

"Did you want me to say no?"

Silence again, accepting silence.

"Because I don't think you do, Sara."

Still silence.

"No," I whispered.

"It's just an innocent dinner date, sweetie."

Date, that word, date.

Date.

A kick, yet, not just hard, erotic, an erotic kick.

Date.

"You...you'll call later, Emily?"

"It might be late..."

"I...I know, I know."

Tight.

Date.

She teases, she teases.