a fantasy...I

He remembered that first night well.

How they had gone up to his apartment in the elevator that had been empty but for them. How they had stood side by side, close in the confined space, but not close enough. That tiny little rectangular gap of air formed by her right arm, moving across their shoulders, and down his left arm. How he had wished the ride would end.

He remembered it well. How could he forget?

What right had she had to be standing there like that in his living room? Why had she been there at all anyways? It certainly hadn't been that fabulous latte he had claimed only he could make.

It had seemed to him that she had listened to his light banter like a performance. She had been attentive but uninvolved, smiling slyly, saying little, sipping his coffee demurely, waiting for it all to end so she could clap.

She had stood there relaxed, the tension in her body an art. An artifice to keep her reined in, to make it evermore beautiful should she ever burst out. Those gorgeous muscles shifting, the haunting hollow of her throat forming and reforming. This honeydew apparition flickering in his living room, bits of her disappearing and reappearing again. He had wanted to linger on the straight lines of her legs and arms, measure the angles of her discreet corners. But her amber eyes would fix on him, curious, closed, bright and knowing. And his appraisal of her would become blurred, he would have to start all over again.