“You’re a dick,” I mutter under my breath. “You can call me all the names you want, talk to whoever you want, but at the end of the night, we leave together. I leave with you. You leave with me.” He squeezes my hand, then produces a wad of napkins from his jacket pocket and turns toward me, spreading my legs. His eyes stay on mine as he sweeps between my legs. His touch is tender and affectionate. He stuffs the napkins back into his pocket and threads his fingers in mine. It feels like crossing a line. I clamp my legs together and turn away from him, gently shaking off his hand. This isn’t
...more
