“It was the kiss, wasn’t it,” he says defeatedly. “What?” I know exactly what, but I’m stalling for time. “The kiss. You didn’t like it. Or you don’t like it anymore. You’ve given it some thought and wish you hadn’t.” “Are you kidding? I’ve thought about nothing else and wish we were kissing still.” It’s out of my mouth before I can swallow it and boil the truth in acid.
