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Reckless

She wanted to be reckless that night.
He was giving her that opportunity
so when he flirted with her,
she tossed her hair and scooted over
on the couch she had reserved for herself
and herself alone.  Before she had decided
she wanted to be reckless.
"My girlfriend dumped me on Valentine's Day,"
he told her.
"How ironic is that?"
So he's on the rebound, she thought, and
he'll be in the mood to be reckless too.
She didn't care that he might be using her;
that's what being reckless was about.
She didn't care that she wasn't like that.
Tonight she was going to be.

So she laughed at his jokes, even though they weren't funny.
She smiled
when he winked at her from the stage.
And she promised 
she would wait for him
after his show.

There wasn't an attraction there.
She didn't like his mannerisms,
his voice, even his songs or the way
he strummed his guitar.
But that didn't matter.
Maybe she could conjure an attraction.
Maybe she wouldn't put forth the effort.

She wanted to be reckless.
She wanted to use him, to test
the theory.
She wanted to see whether or not
it would be
real.