I care about only one of the three guests I’ve invited into my apartment tonight. The other two guests are part of a performance I am putting on for Makenna. If I invited her over alone, she would have understood why, but by inviting two of our other coworkers along my real motive is plausibly deniable. I need to create uncertainty. I need her imagination active.
My real home is a house a few blocks over. I rent this apartment on the side to entertain women. When I furnished it, I bought most things second-hand so I could save my budget for what counts: the couch and the bed. Sometimes the mood is fragile and can’t survive the walk from the living room to the bedroom, so I purchased a deep black leather couch that’s easy to clean and comfortable to fuck on.
I pace around the room while my guests sit on the couch. Makenna sits at the far end, almost hiding. She wears a denim button-down shirt unbuttoned one button below modest over a chemise. We flirted on work IM all week after meeting at the new hire training, but she’s been reserved all night. The only time she spoke was to apologize for standing in my way when I came out of the bathroom. Hope remains, though. She hasn’t pulled out her phone even once.