Sex Says(5)

I locked on to her face, studying the flare of her eyes and the line of her mouth as a matter of first assessment, but she didn’t have the confidence to stare me down unabashedly. Instead, her eyes climbed up from the floor and back again as if on a circuit. I waited for the opportunity they would present when she finally allowed them to round the bend.

Ah, there it is.

“Excuse me,” I greeted with a smile. I gestured to the seat taken by her bag, directly to her left. “Is this seat taken?”

“Oh,” she mumbled nervously as she glanced to it. “No, sorry,” she apologized—something I’d noticed women did a lot—and moved it to the floor between her feet.

“No problem.” The simple words won me another smile.

“So, where are you headed?” I asked, always eager to make conversation with the randoms I encountered during the day. They always had some story to tell, some experience to offer that I might want to seek out. And maybe most intriguing, they were almost always horrendously gullible.

“Just to lunch.” She shrugged. “There’s this cool place on Polk Street, the Crepe House. But it’s all the way down by Washington. This is the fastest way to get there.” She looked to the ground and tucked some loose hair behind her ear before meeting my eyes again. “What brings you here?” she asked and then gave a little laugh. Self-conscious on one hand, flirty on the other, she was obviously still learning her way around her own wants—particularly how to go after them. “Besides agility.”

“Ah, my entrance.” I lowered my voice and glanced around. “Can you keep a secret?”

She looked a little surprised, but her eyes twinkled, and that was all the invitation I needed. I geared up for one of my absolute favorite pastimes now that outings of questionable legal station were off the table—lying.



Sure, on the surface, it sounds bad. We’ve turned it into a dirty word. But by and large, people love to be entertained, and I endeavor to do it. That’s all.



I was actually a law-abiding citizen now, with semi-responsible tendencies. I went to work, I paid my bills, and I respected other people’s health and safety. And, if I was being honest, my past history of criminal activity had mostly revolved around peaceful protests in college and trespassing into old, run-down buildings that’d provided one hell of an adrenaline rush if the roofs were used for free-jumping.

But a guy’s got to get his kicks somewhere, and playing with the gullible nature of individuals interested me way more than any of the other avenues I’d explored.

She nodded.

“Well,” I whispered. “I got in a little trouble.” Her eyes rounded, and I nearly laughed. As if I’d have actually told her if I had been breaking the law—yeah, right. Accessories to your crime were always a liability. “Nothing dangerous.”

She visibly relaxed.

Just like the long arm of the law, she jumped at the chance to accept something I said as truth because I said it like I meant it.

I must have been born with a different gene, one where skepticism and investigation were healthy staples of my everyday certainty. If you wanted me to believe you, it’d take more than a sweet smile and caring eyes to make me.

“Just a simple misunderstanding,” I went on. She nodded like she understood, but the truth was, she couldn’t. She had no clue what I’d been involved in that morning—quite frankly, not much of anything. Or hadn’t—a jewelry store heist, perhaps—and instead, accepted what I said as truth because being truthful was the kind of thing she would do. She based her assessment of me on herself because that’s all any of us can do, really. It’s hard to truly know anything about anything you don’t know. Writers, creators, storytellers live by that very creed, and the rest of us, unwittingly as it is, live by it too. That’s what made doing this—toying with this very complexity of human nature—so much fun.

“But I had to get out of there before they caught up.”

“They?” she asked, reaching up to grip the charm of her necklace in the clench of her hand.

“The police,” I stated matter-of-factly. Her throat bobbed with a forced swallow, and her gaze jerked forward to see if anyone else had heard me. I had to bite my lip in order to maintain my composure and the integrity of my story.

“Trust me,” I cajoled, “I’d have let them catch me if it was a big deal.”

It was, perhaps, the most ridiculous statement I’d ever made, so ripe with bullshit I could hear the splat of it behind trotting hooves on the old street. But she ate it up, smiling as I smiled and leaning into our conversation rather than running away. I only hoped the next gentleman she encountered wouldn’t take advantage of her trusting spirit. Because, sure, in a way, I was taking advantage—but I did so without malicious intent.