“Oh. Okay…well, if you do it again…climb up to my windows…be careful.” His eyes flash with a darker emotional intensity. “Afraid I might fall?” he asks and, again, his words seem like they might be hinting at something else entirely. “Yes,” I whisper. “Me too.” The rasp is deeper now, raw and scratchier. It reaches my heart and drips down to my thighs. I feel like melted butter. I feel like I’m dreaming. Are we talking about windows anymore?
