Just one. A martini, cold and harsh in an empty bar. We made small talk and allowed our legs to touch beneath the table. Her bare legs rubbed against...the fabric of my pants and I saw spots of colour that had nothing to do with alcohol appear on her cheeks…a tinge of rouge colour on the pale, oval face framed by jet-black hair. She put her fingers on my forearm while we talked, then traced her lips slowly with a fingertip. We finished our drinks and I eyed her slowly and asked if I could drive. But, it doesn't have to end us. If you heard it all, you heard me tell him how I felt about you. I love you." "And I heard you say you love him. Why? Because you can talk to him and not me. Does he have a bigger dick? Why, Gil? Why do you love him? Tell me." I said. "I don't know. I guess it has to do with being able to talk to him, yes. I don't know?" "The sex? What has that got to do with talking to him? Tell me that?" She looked away. "I don't know. It just happened," she said. "No,. More

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