Back on the deserted street, two conflicting thoughts roamed through Noah’s head. The first was a difficulty in cataloguing what had just occurred, arranging the details in an order that made sense. He didn’t know the starting point for when things began to go wrong, the memories jumped around in the order in which they happened: her glowing eyes recalled before her silhouette in the doorway, a frayed edge of tablecloth remembered after the naked image of her on hands and knees, sweat slicked. The only thing he knew for certain was his own guilt in the affair. From punching Louisa to the animalistic encounter with Yasmine, he’d wanted it all, every part of it.
Then, against this, intertwined, lived a very real sense of conquest. She was gorgeous, and he totally bagged her. The plain truth of that could not be denied; he’d fucked Yasmine like a champion, regardless of the violence. Bravado overtook him, the ruling power of testosterone fueling his bluster. Shoes now on his feet, he walked the dirty streets and laid out the twisted details as he would relate them to his friends.
As he walked, a third conflicting thought intruded upon the other two, encompassed him, roamed his synapses, and ultimately saddened him--yes, it had been an incredible evening, one whose memory he would long cherish, but . . . the chances were now slim of him being welcome back in T.G.I. Friday's in the near future.
Opening: Matt.....Continuation: Anonymous