Non-fictional. Written about a late night affair I had with a manager at my job several years ago, with slight artistic license. Name changed.
I could feel his eyes on me as I slipped through the gate, crossing the parking lot in a matter of moments and cautiously hopping into his dark blue truck.
“Hi,” I said simply. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye as he shifted the gear into drive.
“What’s up.” He pulled forward and to the right, pausing a moment before veering onto the street. My gaze traced the outline of his jaw ever so hungrily, his salt and pepper beard being illuminated by the street lights.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked, tilting my head coyly. Without missing a beat he replied, “I’m here aren’t I?”
“Fair enough,” I allowed, before the part of me grounded in reality followed with, “Are you really drunk, Aaron?”
“I was 45 minutes ago,” he retorted with obvious disapproval, to which I smirked.
“I had to handle some things.”