But suddenly, everything feels so real. I can feel it…his attack. And butterflies aren’t an adequate description of what’s happening inside. So in one whole continuous thought ramble, I add, “But you’re still a client, and I think we’ve had a lot to drink. And these are weird circumstances. Maybe we should just go to bed and forget this ever happened—” “You’re fired,” he growls, cutting me off before his mouth slams over mine. Oh my god.
