Deadline

The sound of laughter and music comes and goes.
I turn and see you step onto the balcony, half-empty bottle of champagne in one hand, high-heeled shoes in the other.
“Hiding?” you ask.
“Getting some air,” I answer and look down on the streets.
You step forward.
“Midnight’s nearing,” you say as a symphony of flashing red roses and a deep booming thunder cut through the night.
You put your arms around my waste.
“I’ve been thinking,” you say.
“Yes?”
“I want more.”
“More?”
“Yes.”
I glance back at the door. No one in sight.
Then, I push.