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Where we left off last week;

….But she didn’t fret too much, Melting Moments was ten minutes away from her Cantonments home. She quickly took her shower but carefully picked her outfit. It had to be casual, but classy. It had to be decent, but subtly slutty. It had to speak volumes, but retain enough secrets to pique interest.

She eventually settled for an Olive-green Charlotte Russe plaid dress which featured an all over plaid print, spaghetti straps, V neckline with solid contrast picot trim, and elastic smocking at the empire waist. She could have worn it by itself, but chose to wear it over black leggings. When she looked in the mirror, her reflection clapped for itself.

She grabbed her green Gucci clutch and bulleted out of the house to meet Kobe sunshine…or so she thought. But you see, he hadn’t sent the text -the man was sleeping like a log at home. It was his wife who had. Enough was enough, she’d decided. It was time she met her husband’s mistress, this one had stuck around longer than the rest.

*             *             *

I Love Her Husband- the Showdown

Melting moments wasn’t Samaa’s favorite restaurant only because of proximity –Chick’n Lickin was just a street from her house. It was the exclusivity of the petite eatery, its homely red brick walls, its well-groomed waiters, the heavenly-made croissants, and how its crusty deliciousness lingered like a strong perfume. There were only four tables inside the restaurant, then three more on the porch –only one was available presently.

The view wasn’t extraordinary, not unless you had a thing for fancy cars –loads of them plied that Cantonment road, and through clear glass floor-to-ceiling windows, Samaa counted nine Camrys, seven BMWs, three Touaregs, and two Ranges. As the evening wore on and the sun receded behind the privacy of thick grey clouds, a coolness enveloped the atmosphere, in the way it does minutes before a rainfall.

Samaa fidgeted with the salt-and-pepper shakes on her table-for-two and glanced at her thin green-strapped wrist watch. It was 4:55pm and Kobe had still not showed up. She hated waiting, to be the one with nothing more important to do, to appear so needy, like some groupie. Her mind started feeding itself with all the needless, baseless implications of what Kobe’s lateness could mean. Unamused, she took out her Samsung Corby from the Gucci clutch and speed-dialed Kobe’s number.
She cut the line after the second ring. She hadn’t meant to ‘flash’ him, but just when the dial tone came up, she’d felt she was overreacting. It wasn’t like she hadn’t kept him waiting before, in fact, on one occasion, she hadn’t showed up at all, so well, she could let this one pass. If she had persisted and allowed the phone to continue ringing, a sleepy Kobe would have picked up and made flirty comments about how funny it was that she walked out of his dream, into his life. Eventually, she decided to send a text message, one with an even mixture of reservation and lightness.

I’VE BEEN WAITING KOBE, FOR 30 MINS. YOU KNOW HOW PATHETIC SITTING ALONE IN A RESTAURANT CAN BE…EVEN @MM. QUICK MY KNIGHT, COME SAVE ME :-/

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