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YOU WERE WATCHING ME SINCE I CAME IN, I made you excited. Your eyes brightened, you looked intently at my legs—exposed, only the thin fabric of my stockings shielding them from your vivid imagination. You don't think I notice you as I walk in with my head bowed over my phone, but I do. You smile at my red dress, imagining why I'm wearing such a skimpy outfit in a bookstore. You try to reason it, though the deliciously lustful part of your mind is envisioning that I wore it to catch your attention. To be noticed by you.

You're not very polite as I walked passed, no offerings of help or even a simple hello. When I glance up, you're already looking. The small upward turn of my lips is what finally issues a greetings from you, though it isn't a typical one: "Aren't you cold?"

"I run hot." I say with a playful wink, and immediately your expression grows sultry. Maybe I am wearing this dress just for you. Maybe I've had a crush on you since before you ever laid eyes on me. You'd be right, Joe. I do have a crush, and it burns like the radiant sun.

"Isn't that convenient?" You continue our banter because you like my attention, the way my eyes roamed your handsome face. You know that you're beautiful, you've always been a confident man. That's what attracts the ladies, right? Your sheer confidence, how you believe you couldn't do anything bad—never be wrong. A god amongst men. That's what you are, Joe. Or, at least, that's how you view yourself.

Before I can reply, the thin skater kid only years away from a heroin addiction stumbles from the back room, eyes bright red. He's your coworker, a wanna-be thug that listens to too much Eminem. His dab pen is poking out of the pocket of his baggy jeans, the tip soaked wet from slobber. He smiles at me, the acne on his cheeks rising with his grin. He immediately steps in front of you, and the look in your eyes screams white-hot rage. He stepped into your territory. He's too high to notice the danger he's now in.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Can I help you?"

You turn away because you don't want to scare me with your anger, but I've already noticed it. Your jaw creases as it locks, your eyebrows furrow. You don't like him seeing me while I look like this, I'm for your eyes only, and the same excitement you felt earlier comes off of him in aroused waves. Don't worry, Joe. I feel the same disgust you do. He'd never have a chance.

I smile because I like making you jealous, I like the confirmation that I can bring about any emotional response I so desire from you. You're under my control, and we've only spoke a brief few words. Tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, smile with all of my glittering teeth. You're so mad, so flustered, that you're blushing.

"I know my way around, thank you."

"You've been here before?" He scans me in puzzlement, knowing very well that he wouldn't have forgotten someone like me. The question has reeled you're attention as well, and you stare at me from the corner of your eye.

"No, but it can't be that difficult, can it?" I give him a lopsided smile. "Aren't all bookstores pretty much the same?"

"I don't know," he says playfully, trying to act as confident as you are though he fails miserably. He'll never have what you have, Joe. No one could. "This place can be like a maze."

"Good thing I've studied the labyrinth."

My joke flies over his head but you immediately catch on, and you chuckle a bit. You like me more now, you realize I'm both beauty and brains. When you look at me next, it's full of potential, eyes gleaming with hope.

Your coworker scratches the back of his head. "Um, okay?"

"If you really want to help, point me to the L section." I finally abide, giving him a chance to please me. You don't like that, though he jumps like I offered a bated hook.

"Of course." And he leads the way, though I make sure to look at you, longingly. I wish you could be showing me the way, Joe. I really do. But I can't make things easy for you. I need you to want me, to be infatuated. I need you to be willing to put effort into getting me.

Just like you did for her.

HIM .. Joe GoldbergWhere stories live. Discover now