That's All I Needed

We were seated across from each other at the small dining table, staring awkwardly, neither of us touching the food, just waiting for the other to speak.

I thought I was confident enough to do what needed to be done, but I guess years of isolation do wonders for a person's social skills. Every time I tried to say something, my mind went blank.

And it didn't help that this woman was exactly my type. She had that stern look—always serious around strangers but the life of the party with her friends.

She hadn't said a word since her "I know" comment, but she did accept my invitation to dinner. Her arms were crossed under her chest as she kept eyeing the wine bottle, throwing me that "I know you stole my shit" kind of look.

She opened her mouth to say something but stopped. Instead, she poured herself a glass of wine, then poured one for me as an afterthought. She gulped down the entire glass and poured herself another, and then another. When she emptied the bottle, she was a little tipsy. She sighed tiredly and finally began.

"First of all, my name is Heather Jacobs—the woman you called a big-breasted idiot the first day we met." Ouch. Did I really say that?

"I'm the woman you've ignored for the past two years, like I don't exist. Now, all of a sudden, you're suspiciously well-dressed and prepared this nice meal, and you expect me to just be all buddy-buddy with you? Just tell me what you want."

It sounded like something a drunk person would say—except Heather wasn't drunk. No slurring, and her eyes were still sharp, focused, and pissed.

I should've been focused on her question, but my mind was stuck on the 'big-breasted' part, and my eyes wandered down to them. I have no words except… I offer my condolences.

My chest isn't nearly as big as hers, but it's not small either. I deal with back pain sometimes, so I can't even imagine how bad she has it.

"Are you sizing up my breasts? What the hell's wrong with you?"

Oh shit, I got distracted. Is dealing with social interactions always this hard? I don't think so, but it's clear it's been way too long since I've had a proper conversation with another human.

I downed my glass of wine to steel my nerves and stared directly into Heather's eyes. She visibly flinched. It's a trick I learned years ago—people don't like being stared at, even those who crave attention. It makes them uneasy.

"Look, Heather, I apologize for calling you an idiot. I'm pretty sure I was just angry at the world back then and took it out on you. To show I'm serious, I'll offer to give you back massages for the rest of the year. How's that?"

She looked at me, and I knew she wanted another drink. I patiently waited for her response and started eating the now-cold pasta. Still good, so who cares?

She tapped her finger on the table, looking anxious. And suspicious.

"I don't care about your apology. Just tell me what you want from me."

I see. She's the stubborn type. In our limited interactions, I've learned this much: she holds grudges, speaks her mind (if slightly intoxicated), doesn't like me, and is self-conscious about her breasts.

She also dresses however she wants and knows exactly how attractive her body is. She uses it as a weapon, probably without even realizing it. She's been leaning forward, showing more cleavage, trying to distract me. And succeeding.

I think she's the kind of girl who flaunts but doesn't let anyone touch. An enigma. One thing's certain—she doesn't have a stable job, which is probably why she drinks so much. Failed dreams, maybe?

"If you're wondering why I made dinner, cleaned up, and dressed nicely for you, it's because... I've fallen in love with you."

I tried to convey my non-existent feelings with as much conviction and vulnerability as possible, hoping to seem serious.

As expected, Heather's jaw dropped. Her eyes widened with a mix of surprise, pride, embarrassment, suspicion… and something else. Desire? I couldn't tell.

She was so stunned that she reached to pour another drink, forgetting she'd emptied the bottle. Her reaction didn't bother me. I was waiting for the moment I could finally read her mind.

<What's wrong with this girl? How can she confess so casually much confidence?>

The first stray thought from Heather hit like a splitting headache, and I almost groaned from the pain. I hadn't expected it to hurt.

I hadn't taken my eyes off her, though, and knew that even while thinking that, her expression hadn't changed from her initial shock.

[Ding, ding, ding! Congratulations, Host, on completing your first mind-reading baptism! Your reward has been transferred to your account. Good luck with future mind-reading adventures!]

Unlike Heather's stray thought, I'd expected the system's notification, so it didn't surprise me when it appeared in my mind.

I didn't have my phone with me, so I'd check my bank account details later. For now, I brought up my status window.

'Status.'

[Mind-Reading System:]

[Ability: Mind Read

Rank: Tier 1

Money In The Bank: $1,000

New Mission: Convince Heather to watch movies all night while massaging her back.

Mission Rewards:

— $10,000

— An inside scoop into Heather's heart: what she often dreams of becoming.

Constant Praise: To receive more stray thoughts from Heather, you must constantly praise her—whether it's her looks, her life, or anything related to her.]

$100 for each praise? I wasn't about to turn that down. As long as it earned me more money, I'd take whatever came my way, especially if it improved my life with Heather. It's a win-win.

"Umm…"

My focus shifted back to Heather, who was trying to say something. She was circling the rim of her glass with her finger, her gaze distant.

What kind of reaction was this? Had she never been confessed to before? It didn't line up with my theory that she knew how attractive she was and used it to her advantage.

Unless… she's only been attracting creeps because of her body. Or maybe she doesn't get along well with women. There's too much I don't know about Heather. Does she even have real friends?

"Heather, did you want to say something?"

Without looking at me, she muttered, "I... I don't think I can have that kind of relationship with... you. It's not that you're—"

I shook my head and interrupted, "It's fine. I wasn't expecting you to date me; you hardly know me. That's why I'm suggesting we start by watching a movie together. Is that okay?"

She looked at me, startled, happy, and maybe a little scared. But she nodded. And that's all I needed.