But the look of hurt on her face the next morning was unmistakable. The way her lips trembled as she met my eyes. The way her hands curled into tense fists at her sides, and her mad rush to get away from me …that’s what fucking killed me. She got us coffee and food, and put on an Oscar-worthy performance of pretending the night before meant nothing. I didn’t know what else to do besides follow her lead. I couldn’t run the risk of making her feel more awkward around me than she already did.
