T.S.Noir

  Cigarette smoke hung like specters above us, lingering beneath the low ceiling of the bar.

  Sabrina sat across the table, shadows pying against the sharp edges of her features. Her phone vibrated like a restless heart, each pulse threatening to fracture the tenuous intimacy between us. She gnced at it once, the glow of the screen revealing John’s name, before pushing it aside with a silent resolve.

  I watched her closely, every fleeting expression a whisper of her conflicted mind. Her eyes, those striking blue eyes, hinted at doubt, a raw and unguarded uncertainty.

  Was she losing herself to feelings she had not anticipated, or simply toying with me as I’d first suspected? The answer seemed to hang in the air, just out of reach, as she searched for her own truth.

  “Expecting a call?” I finally broke the silence, my words carefully measured.

  She gave a nonchant shrug, but the tension in her posture betrayed her. “Nothing important,” she said, but her eyes flickered, unable to hold my gaze.

  A small smile pyed on my lips. “You seem... distracted.”

  “Do I?” She leaned back, crossing her arms in a casual deflection. “Perhaps it’s you who’s distracted, Mr. Bckwood. You’re far too serious tonight.”

  I watched her, a woman who wielded silence as deftly as a weapon. “And you’re not?”

  A fsh of amusement crossed her face, momentarily lifting the shadows. “I’ve been told it’s one of my charms.” She paused, letting the words settle between us. “But tonight, I find myself wondering.”

  “Wondering?”

  “What it would be like to not be so serious, I suppose.” Her voice softened, an edge of something unexpected creeping in.

  I studied her, the calcuting temptress who seemed to waver between sincerity and something else entirely. Her facade was cracking, and the glimpses beneath were both fascinating and dangerous. “It can be quite liberating,” I replied, my tone suggesting more than the words themselves.

  She hesitated, the briefest flicker of vulnerability crossing her features. I knew that look; I wore it myself.

  She reached for her gss, her fingers lingering over the rim. “And how does a man like you suggest I accomplish such a thing?” she asked, trying to regain her composure, though her voice still carried the weight of her uncertainty.

  I leaned in, lowering my voice to match the intimacy of our conversation. “Start by telling me why you’re really here.”

  Sabrina held my gaze, and for a moment, it seemed she might pull back, retreat into the safety of her walls. But instead, she let out a breath, a subtle admission of her internal struggle. “To see if you’re as dangerous as they say,” she confessed, a hint of teasing undermined by the honesty in her eyes.

  “And what have you concluded?”

  “That perhaps I’ve underestimated the risk.”

  I let her words sink in, feeling the bance shift, sensing her doubt as it chipped away at her resolve. We were like two combatants circling each other, neither willing to give up ground, both aware of the damage they could inflict. But there was more than strategy at py; beneath it all was the thrum of something raw and unpnned.

  “Maybe it’s a risk worth taking,” I offered, wondering if I was trying to convince her or myself.

  Sabrina gnced at the phone again, its silent presence a reminder of the world she was trying to leave behind. Her eyes returned to mine, and I saw the battle she fought within. She was torn, a woman who was not used to doubt, caught between the familiarity of her ambitions and the uncertainty of her emotions.

  “Perhaps,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, filled with a conflict that resonated deeply within me.

  We ordered another round, both seeking soce in the distraction. She traced her finger along the rim of her gss again, a gesture that spoke to her unease. I could see her wrestling with herself, the cool, calcuted persona she presented beginning to fray at the edges.

  “Is it strange,” she asked suddenly, “that I sometimes wonder if I’m losing myself in all this?”

  It was my turn to hesitate, surprised by her candor. “Maybe it’s not such a bad thing,” I suggested, unsure of who I was really speaking to.

  She studied me, her eyes probing for deception, seeking out a truth that seemed just beyond her reach. “And you? Do you ever wonder?”

  I thought of my pns, the careful webs I wove, the delicate bance between desire and strategy. “All the time,” I admitted, the words feeling foreign but liberating.

  Our drinks arrived, breaking the intensity for a moment. We raised our gsses, a silent toast to uncertainty, and took long, deliberate sips. Sabrina watched me over the rim, her gaze as steady as it was unreadable

  “You’re not what I expected, Leon,” she said, a note of surprise coloring her tone.

  I leaned back, letting the statement settle, feeling the tension ease slightly as we both accepted the ambiguity of our connection. “I could say the same about you.”

  We sat in a comfortable silence, each of us lost in thoughts that mirrored the others. Sabrina’s fingers toyed with the phone once more, but she didn’t pick it up. She was choosing, even if she didn’t fully realize it yet.

  I watched her, feeling the pull of something deeper than I had anticipated. We were both bound by our pasts, driven by motives that seemed clearer before this moment. But now, as she searched my eyes for answers, I wondered if we were both in over our heads.

  And then, with a slow and deliberate grace, Sabrina pced the phone face down on the table. “It’s not such a bad thing, is it?” she asked, her voice filled with a hopeful uncertainty.

  “No,” I said, feeling the truth of it settle over us like the smoke in the air. “Not at all.”

  As we lingered in the bar’s dim glow, I knew we were standing on the edge of something that could ruin or redeem us. But for the first time, I felt that maybe, just maybe, it didn’t matter which.

  “Listen Sabrina, we all eventually have to make decision, no matter what that’s about. but when we do make a decision, I’m sure a woman of your caliber will made the right one” I raise my gss as if I invited her to a toss.

  “You are right Mr. Bckwood, and I hope when you did make a decision too, you will made the one that please you the most”

  Sabrina was about to bring her gss closer to mine when suddenly her phone rings again “maybe you should pick it up this time, I don’t really mind.

  You don’t want to make your husband worried do you.”

  Sabrina hesitated, her fingers tightening around the stem of her gss. The phone buzzed insistently, rattling against the polished wood of the bar.

  Her lips pressed together in a thin line, and for a moment, I thought she might ignore it again. But then, with a sigh, she reached for it.

  She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stared at the screen, her expression unreadable in the amber glow of the low-hanging lights.

  “You assume too much, Mr. Bckwood,” she finally said, her voice cool but not unkind.

  I smirked, swirling the st of my whiskey. “Do I?”

  She exhaled sharply, something between a ugh and a sigh. “Yes. And yet, you’re not wrong.”

  Sabrina stood, sliding the phone into her clutch without answering.

  Whatever decision she was making, it wasn’t happening over a phone call. She gnced at me, her eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite name.

  “Another drink, or have we tested fate enough for one night?”

  I watched her, weighing the question. The night still had room for mistakes—or salvation. I just wasn’t sure which one I wanted more.

  “What’s one more?” I said, signaling the bartender.

  Sabrina smiled, slow and knowing, and took her seat once again.

  Sabrina sighed and finally picked up the phone, pressing it to her ear with the kind of reluctance that told me she already knew what was coming.

  “Yes?” Her voice was smooth, controlled. The perfect wife’s tone.

  I took a slow sip of my whiskey, watching her carefully. Her expression didn’t change, but something in her posture did—just the slightest tension in her shoulders.

  “No, I’m still out… Just having a drink.” A pause. “No, not alone.” Another pause, longer this time. “A colleague.”

  She gnced at me then, just for a second, before looking away. I could hear the low murmur of a man’s voice on the other end, though I couldn’t make out the words.

  Sabrina let out a soft ugh, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You don’t have to wait up. I won’t be long.”

  Another pause. She reached for her gss, taking a slow sip as she listened. Whatever he was saying, it wasn’t making her happy.

  “I said I won’t be long, John.” Her voice was a touch firmer now, but still even, still composed. “Yes. whatever.”

  She ended the call before he could say anything else, setting the phone down beside her drink. For a moment, she just stared at it, as if expecting it to ring again. It didn’t.

  I arched a brow. “Everything alright?”

  Sabrina exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly. “He worries too much.”

  I let the words hang between us, studying the way she toyed with the rim of her gss. There was more to it than that—there always was. But I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to ask or to let it go.

  I simply raised my gss. “To husbands who worry too much, then.”

  She hesitated, then clinked her gss against mine.

  “So, you won’t be too long huh?” I repeat the words she said on the phone with her husband.

  Sabrina gave me a look, one that was rife with a challenge. “Depends on how convincing the company is.” Her tone was teasing, but there was an edge beneath it. A dare.

  I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table. “Well, I can be very convincing.”

  Her ugh was low, a sound that curled around us like smoke. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  We drank in silence for a while, an electric tension buzzing between us.

  It was the kind of silence that knew too many secrets, that held the weight of everything unspoken.

  I watched Sabrina carefully, waiting to see if she would reach for her phone again. She didn’t.

  Instead, she reached for her clutch, pulling out a thin cigarette case and lighter. “Mind?” she asked, raising one brow in question.

  “Not at all,” I said, though the act was as much a statement as a habit.

  She lit the cigarette with practiced ease, exhaling a thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

  Her eyes never left mine. There was something feral in her gaze now—a hunger or maybe just desperation dressed up to look like it.

  We fell into silence again, the kind that thrummed with all the things left unsaid. There was a reckless sort of freedom in it, a sense that nothing was off limits and everything was inevitable.

  “A woman like you,” I said slowly, “must feel trapped. Like there’s never really a choice.”

  She looked at me sharply, but the anger I expected didn’t come. Instead, she nodded, almost imperceptibly. “And a man like you?” she asked. “Do you ever feel like you’re alone in your choices?”

  “Always,” I said, without hesitation.

  Her expression softened, something unspoken passing between us. We drank to it, whatever it was.

  “Well then,” she sighed after a moment. “I suppose we’ll make the most of it.”

  The bartender set down another round—our st or only just the beginning.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she said suddenly, flicking ash onto the floor beside her chair.

  “What wasn’t?”

  “This. Everything.”

  I studied her for a long moment, the way her fingers hovered near her gss, the way her lips pursed slightly like she wasn’t sure she should’ve said that out loud. But she didn’t take it back.

  “You mean the life you built?” I asked.

  Sabrina let out a short, humorless ugh. “Built. That’s a generous way to put it.” She tapped her cigarette against the rim of the ashtray, watching the ember dim and brighten. “It’s more like… a life I walked into. One that looked perfect from the outside.”

  I swirled my drink, letting the silence stretch. She wanted me to ask. She wanted to tell me.

  “And now?” I finally said.

  Her lips curled, but it wasn’t a smile. “Now I’m sitting in a bar, having a drink with a man who doesn’t ask for permission.” She took a slow drag from her cigarette. “What does that tell you?”

  I leaned back, considering her. “That maybe you’re tired of asking for permission yourself.”

  Her gaze met mine, sharp and knowing. “Maybe,” she murmured.

  The bartender moved past, pcing the check between us with a quiet nod. A subtle way of saying time was running out—at least for the night. Sabrina gnced at it but didn’t reach for it.

  Her fingers skimmed the edge of her clutch, but instead of her phone, she pulled out a hotel key card. She turned it over in her hand, then set it down on the table between us, next to the bill.

  A test. A choice.

  She stubbed out her cigarette, then stood, smoothing her dress. “Goodnight, Mr. Bckwood.”

  It wasn’t a farewell. It was an invitation. And we both knew it.

  I watched her walk away, the key card still sitting there, waiting.

  Some choices felt impossible, Others felt inevitable. But not tonight, if I take her bait then I’m the one who is going to be the prey. I pulled out some cash, paid the bill and disappeared into the night, hoping I made the right choice.

  ??

  T.S.Noir