The DJ drops Sade.
The bartender hands me a drink I didn’t order, but it’s exactly what I want.
The oysters arrive with lemon wedges cut too perfectly to be random.
The women shimmer.
They flirt.
They flick their hair.
They angle their shoulders toward him like dancers who forgot the stage.
One of them touches his forearm.
Another leans close, hand on hip, smile loaded.
I don’t interrupt.
Because I feel his body; under his shirt, behind his smile: tighten.
His cock is swelling.
His breath gets shallow.
And I let it happen.
