My stranger’s inked hand wraps around my throat, halting my words. The chill of his silver rings pressing into my sweaty skin makes me shiver. I take advantage of our proximity to admire him. He looks exactly the same as I remember–devastatingly good looking with his intentionally messy hair, chiseled cheekbones, and pouty lips, wrapped in the perfectly understated package of black denim and a cut-off tee.
