I watched him walk away, equal parts amused and irritated. I didn’t bother to inform him that he was the cause of my racing pulse, not coffee. It was a little embarrassing that even after all this time, just his thumb on my wrist was enough to make me nervous and stupid and my palms a little sweaty… not just in a sexual way, but an I Can’t Believe He’s Mine kind of way. Every time. We could have worse problems.
