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That Smirk - Jodi Jones

It was the smirk that did it. Carrie had held off for months, ignoring the open invitation she knew was there. She cut conversations short, she left rooms, she was never alone with her – but that damn smirk.

Since she had met the other girl, there had been an energy, an undercurrent of tension between them. It was a Friday night, she had been high on life, cocaine and one too many drinks. The world was sparkly and hers for the taking. She had felt beautiful and in control and that confidence had led to her dancing in the middle of a crowded room. Bodies were moving around her, hands were touching her, and she accepted the touches before moving on to new partners. Then across the room, she had seen her.

Leaning up against a bar, a brown beer bottle in her hand, was the most breath-taking girl she had seen. Her long brown hair framed her face perfectly and dark eyes stared out over high cheekbones. Their eyes had met across the room and neither wanted to look away. The girl raised her bottle to her lips and took a sip. As she pulled it away, a drop of beer was left on her bottom lip. She’d licked it off, smirked and Carrie had broken the eye contact, with flushed cheeks. By the time she had looked back, the girl was gone. Carrie kept dancing.

Then hands had landed on her hips, spun her round and pulled her close. Up close, she realised the girl was even better looking and she smiled, winding her hands around the other’s neck. They danced for what must have been an hour. Bodies close. In time. By the end, they had been pressed up against each other, hands running up and down as they swayed to the music. Carrie leaned up and brushed her lips against the other's ear.

‘I’m Carrie, you are?’

‘Lena. Want to get out of here?’

‘Fuck yes.’

They had rushed then, in checking out their coats, giggling as the attendant had passed them over. They finally kissed, hard and fast leaned up against the wall of a taxi rank. They had made it through her front door before they had started stripping each other’s clothes off, t-shirts and jeans flying through the air in their rush. Then they had fucked, that was the only word she could use to describe the harshness. It had been rough and fast, on the floor and they had shared a cigarette afterwards. Lena had left, and she had gone to bed to nurse the comedown she knew she had coming.

She had seen Lena at the bar so many times since, but she had avoided any chance of a repeat. She barely knew why. But then that smirk, coming at her from across the bar she had come to think of as theirs, and she was back on the dance floor, waiting for the hands on her hips she knew would arrive soon.

Image Credit: Maura Silva

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