I feel my arm catching fire where she brushes past. I’d make a grab for the keys but that would mean touching her hand and that wouldn't be wise.

"Teatime is five in the afternoon, not five in the morning," I say grumpily. "My keys," I demand, holding my palm up to receive them.

She could throw them at me and that would be equally safe. As long as she doesn't touch me. I have to add something that might push her away, but I don't want to hurt her. I'm sure that a remark on her lack of discrimination in post slayage sex partners would be enough to drive her away. I can't gather enough strength to spew out such venom.

"Why do you have to make me say it aloud? I'm too old for you."

Did I guilt her into leaving? I hope so. And, at the same time, I hope it didn’t work.