The classic battle of the head versus the heart. Today, the non-logical heart wins when I wrap a fist around the front of his shirt to pull him down, at the same time lifting to my toes, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s a bit unpolished and almost a miss, my lips barely brushing against his. Reminiscent of our very first kiss, I suppose. Just enough to tell him that I want this. Pulling back, I catch his eyes and they’re dark and hungry and hooded. His attention moves back to my mouth, once again asking the question, “You single, Hal?” I finally give him the
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