Dylan
The engine of my car idling in the quiet driveway was the only sound cutting through the thick, heavy stillness of the night. I sat behind the wheel, my hands resting at the ten-and-two position, staring blindly through the windshield at the soft glow of the porch light illuminating her front door.
I had dropped Isabella off ten minutes ago. I had watched her walk inside, listened to the door click shut, and seen the light in her bedroom flicker to life upstairs.
I should have thrown the car into reverse and I should have driven home.
Instead, I sat there, the palm of my right hand burning where her face had been, my breath uneven against the quiet hum of the air conditioning. My lips still tingled with the ghost of her soft, hesitant yield, a sensation so sharp and overwhelming
