When he walks in, my mouth low-key dries up. I’m not sure that I realized it before, but I find this guy attractive. Okay, he’s hot. Not in any sort of traditional way, but that’s what I like, nontraditional. He’s nothing like Damian but in a way he reminds me of how I felt about him: like I could just stare into his eyes longer than I should, caress his skin with reverence until the light fades.
What is it
with me and the taken ones?
“I shouldn’t have
said anything,” I say.
“Oh, come on. You
can’t tease me like that.”
I step forward as
if in some sort of dream.
When his mouth
meets mine it’s like it’s happening to someone else. I’m extremely jealous of
that person. But it’s me, and it’s him, and we’re making out like high
schoolers, hands as busy as our tongues.
No one else is in
the lobby. No one else will be in the lobby for at least an hour. Still –
“Jesus,” he says.
We pull apart,
look at each other like the human sweet treats that we are. I know places. We
can make this happen. It’s just stupid animal passion, the kind that magnetizes
us together and tosses us apart when we’re through.
It has nothing to
do with love.
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