She tries to pretend it's no big deal.
Like her heart isn't racing and her body isn't humming as she walks toward him.
She wishes his back was facing her, then she'd be sure he couldn't see the desire she tries to hide.
He'd feel it though, he alwa
(more)ys did when it came to her. And so did she.
It's not a secret, all their cards are on the table. Always have been.
There was just something about him sitting alone waiting for her that seemed surreal, made her feel like she was walking toward the cool kids table in high school unsure if she'd be invited to sit down or if somebody would stick their foot out and she'd go tumbling.
But he was facing her.
She both wanted to sink through the floor and sink onto him.
He brought that out in her.
Instead of sinking through the floor or sinking onto him, she slid onto the chair facing him,just a table between them.
It was the closest she'd been to him physically in longer than she could remember and still it felt like he was miles away. She couldn't be close enough to him unless they were skin to skin.
If you held a gun to her head and asked her what they talked about she couldn't tell you.
She could tell you what his eyes were saying. She could tell you the exact shade of blue his shirt was and how his denim jeans felt when they brushed against her bare legs underneath the table.
Like Pavlov's Dog,she dashed out the door when he called, not enough time to do much more than throw on some lipstick and be grateful she was at least wearing her favorite pair of really-short shorts.
She has really long legs.
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