“Careful. Your dad told me to keep my hands off you.” “Yeah, well, he didn’t tell me to keep my hands off you.” A quiet, strangled noise lodges in my throat as her hands flutter over my skin. Somehow, that one sentence from her lips has all my blood rushing in a singular direction. And suddenly, things feel awkward. Altogether too quiet. Too personal. “Thank you,” I mutter, it’s so much easier to say without looking her in the eye. She rests her hand flat against my back for a few beats and quietly replies with, “You’re welcome.”
