Mind games

Friday night, he asked me for a light. His body looks strong, very well built and he has brown hair and glasses. He lights his cigarette, takes a sip from his beer and smiles at me.

"I'm leaving," he says.

"You want to ask me for my number, don't you?" I tease.

"No," he says. "I want to give you mine."

This is our first conversation of the night. He grabs a karaoke slip, marking n/a on all the blanks. On the back, he writes his name and his number.

"What's your name?" he asks.

"Blonde with glasses," I tell him. He laughs and says, "I'm 'guy who comes out once in a blue moon.'" I put the slip of paper into my purse.

I spend Saturday afternoon drinking, mourning Marshall's defeat against WVU at Downtown's. Afterwards, Christin and I meet at a party her new guy invited us to. On a whim, I text him. "I'm at a party," I tell him.

He gives me constant updates on his whereabouts. Finally, he and his friend end up at a bar close to the party I'm at. "Don't leave," I text to him, and I tell Christin I'm gonna meet someone for a drink and walk the block to see him. After bar hopping to a few other places, he, his friend and a nice girl named Shellie end up back at my place.

He told me at the bar "I don't want to lead you on" and I laughed.

"What expectations could I possibly have?" I asked him. "This is the first time we've officially spent time together."

"Then what do you want from me?" he questioned.

"Free drinks," I down the shot of whiskey he bought me. "And a good conversation."

Back at my place, the two of us are alone at my dining room table.

"I'm intrigued by you," he says. I laugh. "Can I tell you what I think about you?" he asks me. "I'm good at figuring people out."

"Go for it."

"You're smart," he says. "Probably one of the smartest girls I've met in a long time, and you know this, but you don't like to admit to others that you think you are smart. You're extremely insecure and even when you think you know something for sure about yourself, you still deny it to others. You're eager. You're especially eager to please. Your friends are the most important things in your life and you would do anything to keep them happy. You really want people to like you. You have goals you'd like to achieve, but you're quiet about them. Probably because you are afraid those that are close to you do not agree with the way you want to live your life. You are dying to find someone you can trust. You can't even trust yourself. How am I doing?" I don't answer him.

"Don't cry," he says. "I know I'm right."

"I'm not going to cry," I say. "I'm amused."

"Tell me about myself then."

"You're manipulative," I tell him. "That's the only thing I can come up with right now."

"If that's what you think, you should probably keep it in mind," he says. He changes the subject: "Wanna go get cigarettes with me?"

"Your friend. What about him and his girl? They're on my couch."

"So?"

"They're strangers to me," I say.

"That's okay. You'll trust them. You want them to prove to you that they're good people." He leads me outside by my hand.

At the convenience store, he asks me if I want an energy drink. I choose a Redbull, and he grabs one that I've never heard of. Back in my parking lot, he suggests we walk over to the stairs of the apartment complex next to mine to smoke and talk. I sit on the stairs and he opens his drink.

"Try it," he says. I take a sip. "How does it taste?"

"You know," I laugh.

"I've never had it before."

"I taste oranges," I lick my lips.

"So it's sweet. Is that all?"

"Mango too."

"Passionate also," he says. "Do you like it?"

"It's good," I admit.

"Then I should try it," he says, but instead of taking a sip he pulls my face to his and kisses me deeply. I break the kiss and laugh.

"See?" I tell him. "You're manipulative."

"Girls like mind games. You especially do. You'll probably try to tell me that guys like them too and I won't argue with that, but you find all of this to be incredibly sexy right now." I pull him back to me. He's between my legs, my dress riding high on my thighs, and he is kissing me harder. We stop at the same time and laugh.

"Wanna go back inside?" he asks. I go ahead, leading the way. Before we walk in the door, he says he is only going inside to get his friend and then he is leaving. "I have to be home by 5:30," he says.

"Why? Will you turn into a pumpkin?"

"Something like that," He twists my ponytail around his finger.

"You don't want to spend the night?" I ask him, although I didn't want him to. I just expected him to want to.

"I already have," he says.

Once inside, he tells his friend he'll meet him at his car, and he pushes me against my bedroom door to kiss me goodnight.

"You'll touch yourself when I leave," he says.

"How do you know?"

"You're aroused." He touches my lips with his finger. "I can smell it." I hide my face. "Don't blush," he teases. "It's incredibly hot. We should just save it for another time."

"Yes," I agree.

"Tomorrow then. I'll call you tomorrow. Let's get together then."

He walks downstairs and stops once, only to turn around and smile at me, then goes on to close the door behind him.

I've decided I hate him, but I'm thankful I got new batteries.

The only games Tashina Savage enjoys involve alcohol and occasional go's at Tetris. Email her your best strategies at sundaysgirl@gmail.com