THE MAN AT THE NEXT TABLE... Look, I'd already noticed he was looking at me. Not in that inconvenient way that makes a woman want to pull her skirt down further, it was worse... He'd look away, then look again. I was alone at the bar, waiting for a friend who had already sent three messages saying "I'm on my way," the ultimate universal code for not even leaving the house yet. I ordered another drink, I was drinking Aperol, and when I looked up, he was smiling. - What? (I asked) - Nothing. - Then stop looking. He took a sip, still looking at me: "- You don't want me to stop." SON OF A BITCH!!! I went back to my phone as if that sentence hadn't crossed the table and landed on my lap. My friend finally said she wasn't coming, I got stood up, can you believe it? I got up, put my bag on my shoulder and walked past his table. - Good night. - Are you leaving? - I am. - What a shame. I took two steps. I went back. I leaned down close to his ear and said, "You talk too much for someone who spent forty minutes without the courage to come to my table." I left. I reached the corner before hearing footsteps behind me. I smiled. I didn't turn, I turned, I didn't turn, I turned, and... I only know that there are moments when a woman knows exactly what she's doing, and others when she just wants to find out how far she'd dare to go.