When she finally lets go, she turns her back to me with a flick of her hand, like that was the only thing I wanted from her. Fuck. It should be. I got my phone back. I can go back to the bar and find my friend. But it’s not. I scrub my hand across the stubble on my chin and over my mouth as my gaze travels over her again, now that she’s paying me no attention. There are a thousand reasons why walking away is the logical choice. But I’ve done logical and expected, cavalier and thankless. Right now, I just want her. Fuck it.
