Play with your food

He stands in the doorway, a big man. I smile and licke my lips. He won’t not be expecting me.

I raise my head, sniff the air. He had garlic for supper. Perfect. These silly hoomans, they think we are afraid of a little garlic. I lean in a bit, sniff again. I can smell the wine in his sweat. But there is something else too.

He is relaxed. And he is waiting for someone.

He stretched out his arm, and brings his wrist closer to his face.

His companion is late.

I kick the body behind me. It is empty.

He clears his throat, and pulls his phone from his pocket. I can hear a muffled ring behind me. He sighs as there is no answer. He inspects his wrist again.

I can smell his tension now.

His companion is not coming. I will have to do in her place.

I wait for the right moment, before I saunter up and say “hello honey.” I can see a vein throbbing in his throat. “Go away,” he says.

“Waiting for someone?”

“None of your business. Go aw-“

I don’t let him finish. It is not polite to play with your food. Well, not too much anyway.

---

Yes, I know. Bit of a vamp theme going on at the moment. I need to get it out of my system, until I have time to write more on Adam – and that is at least 4-5 months away.