She lets go in an instant and breaks the kiss. It doesn't take her speaking for me to know what's going through her mind right now. I can see it all over her face. Regret. Shame. Sorrow. But I can also see it in her eyes—the part of her that wants this just as bad as I do. I'm not delusional and I'm sure as hell not blind. She can act like this can't happen all she wants, but she's fighting herself just as much as she's fighting me. “I have to go,” she murmurs. I step back to let her get off the car. “Don't. Just talk to me.” She shakes her head. “No. I really have to go.” There's nothing I
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