Types

The wind blew through the window and played with the white curtains. The blanket was cast aside, because it was too warm. 'Fucking hell, I definitely have a type.' she thought as her hands played with his short dark beard. 'I mean, I thought I didn't. But there's something about these guys, apparently.' He was talking about something but she was lost in her own revelation and acceptance that her friends had been right for years. She always thought she had a very diverse taste in men, but it was this type that seemed to keep knocking her off her feet. It was fun. Relishing in the idea of it becoming more. Just for an hour or so. Then she'd shut it down. Cause it would only end in pain, like it always did.