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I touched her until she fell apart.
And I want her again.
Soon.
Very soon.
My phone buzzes.
A message from her:
Ruby:
I can’t think.
I smile.
Slowly. Dangerously.
I text back:
Me:
Good.
Another message:
Ruby:
This is getting out of hand.
I reply:
Me:
Then stop running from me.
I pause.
Then add:
Me:
Come to my office tomorrow.
10am.
My schedule is clear.
It isn’t.
It is now.
I want her again.
And next time?
I won’t be satisfied with touching her over lace.
