Martini-me

„When did you ever get a straight answer from a cat?“ Peter muses, staring into the darkness above us. Somewhere a cat keeps meowing, as if answering his question.

„Never, huh…“ I guess. The marble radiates from the hot day. My elbows dig into the grassy patch behind the doric capital stone. „Void. Partially stars…“ I don’t think he knows where this quote is from. It’d surprise me if he did. No answer. Figure.

I offer Peter the bottle with my Martini Bianco. I think I blessed myself with a heartburn. Too late to worry now, I’m drunk enough to throw up anytime.

Still no reaction, so I shake the bottle. He leans back, and takes it. His too big jeans slide down his hips. Oh my. Drunk and horny. Behave. I tell myself.

„How long will you stay in Rome?“ I shrug and force my eyes away from him, back to the stars.

„Dunno.“ The liquid plashes against the bottleneck. Silence.

He sighs, I feel two hot spots on my jawline. I let our eyes lock again. No idea what it is between us – fire hazard maybe. Or this Martini-me. The hot summer night…

  

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