Working Girl

He knew what she was when she slithered onto the barstool, bare knee brushing his jeans. Didn't have the heart to laugh, or maybe too tired, work-dirt dark beneath his nails. Even paid for her beer.

"You ever..." she led, then sighed. Deep, like she was just worn-out. "Wish things were different? Like, you could..."

"Win the lottery? Fire my boss?" Not crew leader anymore. Not here.

"Maybe..."

"Turn back time?" Anya, safe, whole, blossoms white between their hands.

"Yeah." Nod. Red curls bounced, suddenly eager. "You... ever wish?"

"You're new at this, aren't you." He bought her another drink.

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Drabble from the sunday100 community on livejournal.

the end