It’s not a date, but if it were, I’d press up close and whisper in his ear, suggesting we cancel dinner entirely. Then I’d press my lips to his jaw just to feel that five o’clock shadow of his against my skin. I’d finish unbuttoning the shirt he’s got on, running my hands down his chest, letting my fingers trace all the hard hills and valleys of his stomach before they trail lower…to his belt, which I’d rip loose so fast my speed would shock us both.
