Hook

“I don’t do small talk,” she grins, a flirtatious challenge to bookend our evening.

I’m still nursing my second drink, the glass sweating in my hand. “Isn’t this how you get to know someone?”

“You’ll ask about my job or if I have pets, but what do you learn about me other than adjectives? Just say something true about yourself.”

I unfasten my watch to reveal a crooked scar on my wrist. She traces her index finger along my childhood casualty like a treasure map, hooking herself to the space between my skin and shirt sleeve, pulling our orbits together.