Tanya smiled to herself, anticipating his arrival in a few minutes.
Her plan was working to perfection so far. She'd reeled him in with the most confusing and bewildering array of mind games she'd yet been able to manage. Calling him in the middle of the night to talk about things that were bothering her, and only letting him go when he'd be too tired at work the next day to be anything other than useless. Whispering in his ear that she wasn't wearing panties at the beginning of a date, then angrily slapping him across the face when he tried to explore a bit under her dress. Texting him about how horny she was and how badly she needed to be fucked, then pleading exhaustion and a headache when he arrived, panting like a dog. Deliberately ignoring dozens of gradually more frantic voicemails, then calling him out of the blue and passing it off as her "just being so busy". Writing a romantic, emotional poem and leaving it in his briefcase, then laughing, "Oh, you thought that was serious? Don't be silly, darling." Disappearing halfway through a date and leaving him to pick up the check....and pay for a taxi home, since she'd stranded him as well. She was particularly proud of that last one.
Yes, it had worked beyond anything she'd ever dreamed. She'd never seen a man so drunk with lust, so turned on and twisted far out of recognition that he'd fall at her feet without a whimper if she so much as crooked her little finger.
But where was he? He was five minutes late, and that wasn't like him at all. She picked up her phone and dialed his number, quite peeved. Ten rings brought her his voicemail, with a message she hadn't heard before. "Sorry, can't get to the phone right now. Off for a vacation and I've left my phone behind. If it's important, leave me a message and I'll get back to you."
Well! That was really quite exasperating. If she were important? She drew in breath, preparing to blast the voicemail with a piece of her pique, and then was dumbstruck as the message continued, "........Oh, and if you're Tanya, don't bother calling me again. Ever. We are done, finito, over with."
The world reeled. Dimly her mind registered the voicemail beep, dimly her body went through the automatic actions of closing the phone. She couldn't get the sense from it, couldn't comprehend what she'd heard. Her brow furrowed and her mouth worked, shaping the words slowly: Done. Finito. Over with.
But.....he'd been enjoying the games they'd played. Hadn't he?
(This is my contribution for Sweltering Celt's Microfantasy Monday. The theme, as you may have guessed, is "Games". And if it sounds overly bitter, don't worry, that's just my extreme distaste for the games some women play coming through. I'm sure none of you lovely folk would ever do things like this.)