“You can’t kiss me like that…” His voice was raw, scraped thin and vulnerable. “You can’t kiss me like you mean it if you don’t.” “I mean it.” I lowered my hands to his hips. I didn’t care about the cars passing by, or the cashier staring at us through the bookshop window. “Luka… look at me.” He covered my hands with his, pushing them from his hips, and stepped back, the cold air adding more bricks between us. “I don’t want to lose my best friend again.” “You won’t.” “You don’t know that,” he said, his hands in fists at his side.
