Bitch

You lay back and scratch your shoulder absently, catching your breath. He's panting, poor thing. He's not the best you've ever had, but it was something. It's not like have particularly high standards anyway; willing, good-looking, and not-too-old usually fit the bill and thankfully, they're not scarce.

And god, he's just so cute, with his soft kisses and hands in your hair. It's the innocence, you decide as he plants his lips to your forehead and gazes down, that makes him painfully adorable.

Too bad you have places to be. It's hard not to giggle at his surprise when you get out of bed and pull on your clothes.

"Wait, where are you going?" he asks and the way his green eyes seem to pop is almost silly.

"Home," you answer in monotone, bending down to pick up your shirt.

He sits up straight, the sheets pooling beneath his abs. You let yourself stare a little; we're all allowed our vices. "Can I have your number, at least?" Your attention snaps back to that let-down, little-boy expression he's wearing. He really is just like a puppy.

You open your bag, checking to make sure you still have your phone. "Why?"

"I want to see you again." He looks so crestfallen and hopeful at the same time that you can't hold back the giggle this time. It's just so damn cute.

You lean over to ruffle his hair -- you really can't help yourself -- and rest a hand on his cheek. "Yeah," you tell him with a sympathetic smile. "But I'm not that kind of girl."

Taking the elavator down, you realize you should have asked him what kind of gum he was chewing. It was very minty.