albums clutched to his side,
narrow waist leaned into one hip,
palm dragging across his jaw.
The stupid guy who I realize has the power to make my body do foreign things. Like shake. And stutter. And stumble.
“How you feeling?” I ask him. “You good?”
His eyes don’t leave mine,
and a disbelieving grin takes over his face.
“You’re still here, so yeah. I’m good…
“You good?”
We breathe in at the same time.
Exhale at the same time.
It makes me smile, and I turn to hide it.
“Yeah,” I say, glancing back at him.
“I’m good.”
The mood dips then.
He swallows.
“Good,” he breathes out.
His eyes don’t move.
They hold me in place.
Pin me.
No escape.
Like I’m not going anywhere.
Like he’s not done with me.
“You hungry?” he asks.
I freeze.
“What.”
His grin turns wicked. “I wanna feed you.”
And the way he saysfeed,
it’s likefuckall over again.
All I can do is stare. Don’t know what to say.
