He waited for her in the maroon booth by the front window. Half his soda was gone and the sky outside was shifting from violet to black. The automatic lights outside came on, making the arriving customers look like stage actors. He checked his cell phone for missed calls and the time.

            Without a word, she slipped into the booth across from him.

            “Shelly,” he said with a nod.

            She flitted her eyes.

            “If you want to order something, that's cool. I got it.” He rolled the small ball he made from his empty straw wrapper between his fingers.

            Shelly shook her head and refused water from the waitress who came to check on the table.

            “I don't get you,” he said. “You're not like anyone else I have ever met.”

            “Well,” she said, crossing her arms just beneath her breasts. He remembered the feeling of them in his mouth as she writhed beneath him, moaning his name. Shelly slapped the table top. “Brian!”

            “Sorry,” he said.

            “If you can't look me in the eye when we talk, then there is really no point in my being here.” Shelly slid toward the edge of the booth.

            “No. Wait. I said I was sorry. I'm sorry, okay? You said ‘well' a minute ago. What did you mean by that?”

            She continued with a sigh and a roll of the eyes. “Well, you had said that I'm not like anyone you have ever met, and I was going to say, before my boobs interrupted, that you are obviously not used to dealing with an intelligent woman.” Shelly pushed her silverware aside.

            “I never questioned your intelligence.”

            She laughed, “And I should hope not. I mean, admit it, I am probably the most intelligent woman you have ever dated.”

            Brian ran through the memory catalogue of women he had dated in his life. Strings of blondes and brunettes of all shapes, sizes, and skin tones danced in his mind's playground.

            “It's true, isn't it?” Shelly insisted.

            “I…I…I guess. Sure,” Brian said, leaving the straw wrapper ball alone on the table and reaching for his napkin. He picked along the edges and watched the small fabric splinter and disintegrate in his fingertips.

            “I thought so,” she said, twirling her brown curls in her fingers, “It's nothing to be ashamed of, and I suppose I can't blame you for treating me the way you did, considering you are not used to women with brains.”

            “But all I said was…”

            “Ah!” Shelly held her palm to Brian's face, “I don't need to hear it again. I am a woman that believes in actions, not words. Anyone can say the right things, but it's doing the right things that matter.”

            Brian slumped a little in the booth. “How should I have acted?”

            “Being yourself might be good for a start.” Shelly flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Aside from that, all your actions should match the words that you throw out there so easily.”

            “I don't know what you're talking about.”

            “Yes you do. In your heart of hearts, you do.” Shelly adjusted her sweater and reached across the table for a sip of Brian's drink. She waited, staying loose like a boxer between rounds.

            Brian looked at the lip gloss smear she left on his glass and bit his tongue. ‘Heart of hearts' was his phrase, and she had stripped the meaning from it. “Who do you think I am acting like?”

            “You tell me.”

            This slammed Brian back against the booth and he searched the room for an escape. “I'm pretty sure that the only way I know how to act is like me.”

            “Pretty sure?” Shelly said, sipping again from her stolen soda.

            “You know what I mean.”

            “I can only assume you mean what you say.  Unless, that is, your actions don't back up your words.”

            “When? When did my actions not back up my words?”

            “Don't get defensive.”

            “I'm not,” Brian insisted.

            “This is an adult conversation. There is no room for anger.”

            “I'm not angry.” Brian checked his watch and wondered who John Stewart's guest would be tonight.

            “You look angry,” she said.

            “I don't know what you want or expect from me. I call you lots of times a day. I text you every morning. I answer all your e-mails and texts. I spend every weekend with you.”

            “You make it sound like a job,” she said.

            There are more rules and policies and procedures with you than with any job I have ever had. “No, it's not like that.”

            “Then what do you mean, exactly.”

            Brian pushed the napkin crumbs he made around the table. He imagined them as two football teams as viewed from the last row of the stadium. “I guess I don't know what I mean. I guess I'm sorry for what I said the other night.”

            “You're giving up that easy?” Shelly picked up the water and swirled it in the glass.

            “What are we even fighting about?”

            “We're not fighting.” Shelly touched herself just above her breasts. “I'm not fighting anyway.”

            “Then what are we talking about?”

            “Us.”

            Wow, half of that is your favorite topic. “Oh. Yeah.”

            “See, when I hear that word. A certain amount of responsibility is required that comes along with it.”

            “Uh-huh,” Brian's miniature football teams lined up for a third and long.

            Shelly went on to describe this responsibility in detail, while the paper shard tight end was hit from behind, fumbling the ball and losing the game.

            “You don't think this is important?”

            “I didn't say that,” Brian said. He looked out at the window at the blackened sky and wanted a piece of it.

            “So do you see what I mean?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Really? You're not just saying that, right?”

            “No. Yeah. I get it. I gotta match my words with actions.” He checked the time on the cell phone again.

            “You don't get it at all.” She huffed, crossed her arms, and slouched back into the booth.

            “What? Get what?”

            “See!”

            Brian rolled his eyes and pulled his jacket on. He leaned to the side to free his wallet and set a 5 dollar bill on the table.

            “I gave you that jacket.”

            “Yeah, you did.” Brian wriggled out of the sleeves and let the jacket lay dead on the booth.

            “So this is it then?”

            “All this is, is me needing to take a shit.”

            “All I'm saying is that with actions you wouldn't need words.”

            “Yep.” Brian said, sliding from the booth. “I'll be right back.”

            Brian walked toward the bathroom and took a detour at the exit. “Thanks,” the hostess called to him as he pushed open the glass door. He cursed himself for leaving his cigarettes in the jacket's pocket and vowed never to tell another woman he loved her.