I wanted to see him in the worst way. Wanted the release of a scene. Plus, he’d inevitably have food with him, and my winter greens were getting awfully tiresome. But that want was dangerous. It was why I hadn’t gotten together with him since our last scene. I didn’t like how I was coming to crave him. His laugh. His hands, alternately punishing and tender. His praise, which I tried so hard not to need and still felt like a drug.
