Not Watching Her
He refused to watch her dance, night after night. His lids low. Wanting; an occasional nail bite when a drunk made a grab, his only tell. Wanting as she smiled, bending low. Respected her, by not watching. It was his gift.
The Ruin Her hand went to the tarnished locket that rested against her skin. The gold plating long worn off-it wasn’t worth the chain that it rested on, but it was her treasure. With shaking fingers she carefully pried it open, unfolding the small piece of paper with his address on it. It was a match.