We need space. So I can put things in order, and we can touch all over, and we can—get this out of our systems. My brain crashes headfirst into the words. There’s almost an audible tire screech. Hold up. Wait a minute. I’m the only one swept away here. He’s in full control. He’s smirking, self-satisfied, tugging the shawl where it’s bunched under my thigh. Oh, hell. I’m making a fool of myself.
