leaving it close.
An offer. If I want it.
He waits with his eyes on me.
Then my fingertips skim down the insides of his fingers.
He exhales, long, slow, relieved.
So do I.
We both sink into the back seat,
finally breathing.
His warm palm is open under mine,
calloused in places carrying stories I want to hear but can’t ask for.
I trace him, thoughtless, speechless.
Touching’s all I’ve got left.
He watches, eyes full of me.
“Lemme ask you somethin’,” he leans in, “What do I gotta do to make sure I don't leave that pretty head of yours after tonight?” He nudges his chin. “I wanna haunt you a little. Drive you mad."
My throat goes dry.
“That’s a cop-out.
“You wanna haunt me, earn it.
“Figure it out on your own.”
He shakes his head. “Rather look dumb askin’ than be wrong assumin’.”
The bookstore crashes back in. The way we didn’t blink before falling into each other. The way the world fell away.
“So after the basement…
“what I did… with you,” I start to ask,
“not one tiny assumption about me?”
“Not even close.”
He says it without hesitating.
“That night didn’t say shit about you or me.”
His thumb grazes the shape of mine.
“It said everything about us.”
Those words burn between us.
“LikeCrazy,”I say.
