She

Her smile sets off my spidey sense. A tight faded scar instead of the usual intoxicating topography of white pearls bordered by full scarlet lips.

No, this was a smile that resented surfacing.

I sit down, spilling my coffee. Cursing my clumsiness as the ebony liquid scalds pink skin. She says nothing, inspecting her phone. Another bad sign. She despises people who use phones in social situations. I mop at the coffee, waiting for the silence to break.

Finally, ignoring my gaze, she takes a sip of latte.

Eyes meet.

The she pulls the trigger.

‘Steve, we have to talk.’