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He was stil crouched on the floor, staring up at me, and each word out of my mouth attacked his expression like verbal shrapnel. By the time I’d finished, his face had shut down and thrown up shields of apathy. With his lips taut and grim and his gaze cold, he pushed to his feet. Then he looked around as if uncertain why he was there in the first place. “I’l go, then,” he said, stepping around me and out of the bathroom. “Wait,” I cal ed after him, my anger dissipated. He paused at my front door, but he didn’t turn to face me. “Maybe we can meet for drinks or something if situations change,” I said because as much as I hated it, seeing him again more than proved there was a spark. But I couldn’t do it like this. With him injecting himself into my life without warning while I waited for
- Writer
