Judas liked to think she was better than she really was.

She liked to think she didn’t smile at you when you came to pick up your food, liked to pretend that she didn’t totally swoon when you pulled her close after a shift and told- not asked, told, her to rub your shoulders.

The woman liked to think she wasn’t beginning to actively seek you out, like she didn’t do her hair the way you liked it just to you would smile you at her and touch her face.

She placed yet another order of Chicken Wings on the counter behind the bar counter by the liquor shelves, letting out a sigh through her nose. You were first cut tonight and she would be finished about five minutes later- she just wanted to collapse on top you.

You came over to pick it up, curls and tits bouncing. Your face, however, was much more reminiscent of how you were really feeling.

Judas let out another sigh and scanned the space- people eating, the manager, a tall man named Leslie, chatting with some patrons. Seeing that everybody that would say it was “inappropriate” or “ungodly” or whatever were busy, she leaned in for a quick kiss.

If there was one thing about Judas Alvarez, it was that she could never stand to see you sad. For someone so closed-off and independent, she was quite the giver.

Her chapped lips met yours gently, like they always did. You tasted definitively of that strawberry chapstick and faintly like chai- your preferred method of caffeine, while she functioned off espresso and energy drinks.

When you pulled away, the little smile that slid onto your face was proof that her little pick-me-up idea worked. Your forehead came to rest against hers, and she kissed your nose.

She smiled when your nose wrinkled as your face scrunched up in that beautifully entitled way, and she kissed it again.