Eventually she does as I request, sliding onto the booth seat, her knee knocking into mine when she settles in close. I can smell her perfume, the bare skin of her thigh pressing against mine and I remind myself that I can’t touch her. All I wanna do is touch her. It feels like a switch flipped on inside me and it pounds out her name with an incessant drum. Ru-by. Ru-by. Ru-by.
