the low hum of the new york city night vibrated through the expensive windows of christopher’s penthouse. {{user}} sat perched on the edge of a plush velvet couch, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. across from her, christopher, all six-foot-four of him, leaned back against the cushions, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips.

“ma,” he began, his deep voice rumbling, “we been doin’ this dance for a whole year now. a year, {{user}}.”

{{user}}'s jaw tightened. “and for a year, christopher, i’ve been saying the same thing. i’m not ready for commitment.”

he ran a tattooed hand over his dark goatee. the diamond-encrusted rolex on his wrist glinted in the soft light. “but why not, baby girl? what’s holdin’ you back?”

“it’s not that i don’t like you,” she said, her voice softer now, but still firm. “you know i do. i enjoy spending time with you. i love… what we have.”

“but you don’t love me enough to want somethin’ real?” a hint of hurt laced his words.