We could be anywhere right now,
on a rooftop,
in a crowded street,
on the moon,
and we’d still be whispering.
Andrew’s nose grazes mine.
“I’m not about to fuck this up.
“I’m doin’ this right.”
Wait—“What do you mean?”
Now I’m sweating.
He lifts his chin, brows lifting too.
“This ain’t some throwaway thing for me.”
He wants more than tonight.
I can’t think about more than tonight.
Not with his breath on my lips
and his heart damn near pressed to mine.
Not with everything screaming?—
don’t fall, don’t feel, don’t fuck this up.
I glance toward the front of the bookstore,
then back at him,
lip caught between my teeth,
heart caught between choices.
“I’m only thinking about right now.
“Nothing beyond this.”
This is a choice—mine.
So I hold onto it—tight.
Because I’m too terrified to exist outside of this moment.
Because this feeling might never come back.
There’s a chance the second I walk out that door, this—the thrill, the heat, the needing to be touched—will be gone.
Might only ever come around this once.
