His gaze consumes mine and holds me and hoists me and pushes up against me—but we aren’t touching. We aren’t speaking. I ache and ache, soaked and ready for him. I swallow, cross my ankles, and I lean further away from my boyfriend. He notices and nods like I’m doing well. This is the plan. But as he departs for the pantry, his body heat is replaced with a sudden biting cold.
