He’s engaging me in idle chatter, but his eyes are hyper focused on my cup. I’ve commented a couple of times that it’s a nice drink, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy him. Finally, out of options, I suggest, “Why don’t we head out now?”
“You don’t want to finish your coffee?” he asks, disappointed.
“I will, but I like to sip my drinks slowly.” I force a smile on my face and get to my feet. He has no other choice but to follow.
“I have to pick up some papers from my apartment,” he says suddenly. “Do you mind if we stop by my place?”
“Sure.” Maybe I can chuck the rest of this liquid abomination while he’s distracted.
He doesn’t live very far from the coffee shop, and his apartment is on the second floor. When I enter, I’m not surprised to see the luxurious setup. As I run my hand across
