“Sorry about that comment earlier,” he said, almost in a whisper. “None of my business, really, if you’re single or not.”
“Oh, it’s no, um, sweat,” I replied, glancing at the river of it that ran down his neck. We both laughed and moved a few inches closer. “And you? Single, I mean?”
Closer we pressed. Even closer.
“Guess I haven’t met the right…”—he paused—“man, yet.”
Well, that did it. Our lips, at once, joined, merged, meshed, then parted to allow tongues to swirl and slide and careen. The eyes stayed open, locked, not wanting to miss a moment of the magnificent spectacle. He brought his hand down from the air-conditioner. I did the same. His arms encircled my shoulders, mine his waist. We turned ourselves into each other, pressed our sweat-covered bodies up tight, until I could fee
