I pace along the white line of the parking lot, wondering if I’ll recognize him when he pulls up. I’ve only ever seen limited angles of his face, the ones that he chooses to show when we snap. His dick I’d recognize. I snuffle a laugh at the thought of having to pick him out of a lineup. “Sir, please remove your pants so the lady can identify you.” God, he has me tripping down a path to quantum crazy.
I chip at the electric blue polish on my fingernails. “Where are you?” I whisper.
People, cars, and boats crawl across the hot asphalt of this boat ramp, crowding my vision. It’s a beautiful summer day, and we’re all ready to be out on the lake.
The impatience shakes my right foot when a vapor of baby pink washes into my peripheral vision. My eyes track his unhurried stride. He wore the pink shirt, the one from the picture. It clings to his torso and outlines the taper from his shoulders to waist. My circuits bog down and my brain re-boots as I mentally tread water. On idiot auto-pilot, I raise my hand and wave like a toddler at him. As soon as I realize it, I cover my mouth as I cringe at my level of jackassery. “Holy shit, would you get it together?” I mock myself quietly.