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“You feel the invisible tug. I know you do. It’s written on your face.”
“You’re back to eye fucking me again, Pumpkin.” He turns, catching me as he stands in the doorway before walking away. “You should really stop doing that.”
I turn to face him, the moonlight washing the room gray. “Falling in love with me wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to you, would it?” “No. Losing you would,” he says. “Good night.”
There is an invisible rope that always pulls us together. The odd sense of familiarity, like I’ve always known him. We’re strangers, I remind myself. Perfect strangers.
