He pulls me into him, kisses my forehead, then releases me. It’s a peck, really. Chaste. Friendly. Coming from a place of affection, not lust. Except Javi’s lips are butter soft, and he smells amazing. Just like that, my brain rewires itself, decides his kiss is the only one that will do. And I really hate that for me. Because I have a sinking feeling that going forward, I’ll compare every person to Javi and find them lacking.
