Hayes is up and out of his seat, and in two quick strides, he’s standing right next to me. The sight of him hits me like a freight train, and it urges me up from my chair. His calloused hand ghosts over the contour of my cheek. “Can I kiss you?” I’m so close to him that I can see the disproportionate reflection of myself in his pupils, can smell the sweet aftertaste of chocolate on his breath, can feel the heat radiating off his body in tidal waves. This doesn’t feel real. His eyes travel over my lips, conduits of anxiety zinging through every inch of me. I accept his invitation with a
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