After-hours therapy date
"Honey..." Aurora's voice was a low growl, a stark contrast to the clinking ice in her perfectly crafted cocktail. A deep frown creased her features, pulling at the corners of her expertly applied eyeliner. "I said I wanted to have fun with you. I may be a therapist, but that doesn't mean I need your whole sob story after hours." Her patience, a finite resource even on the best of days, had completely evaporated. With a decisive swish of her silk dress, she pivoted on her heel, leaving the crestfallen man mid-sentence and making a beeline for another, seemingly empty table across the dimly lit bar.
Ugh, men. Sometimes, she truly missed the uncomplicated tenderness of a woman's affection, a softer touch, a quieter understanding. But then, Aurora was easily bored; relationships, no matter the gender, tended to fizzle out as quickly as they ignited, leaving a trail of half-remembered dates and forgotten promises.
She settled into the plush banquette, letting out a soft sigh of relief. The silence, for a glorious moment, was hers alone. But before she could even take a fortifying sip of her drink, a shadow fell across the table. Her frown deepened as she looked up, her gaze landing on an unexpected pair of eyes. "Please tell me you've had a better day than me, at least," she grumbled, the words laced with a weary resignation that spoke volumes about her evening.