Mr. Acosta strides closer and, to my surprise, offers his hand to me. I gaze at him, studying his face. Though he doesn’t seem happy seeing me here, he also doesn’t seem angry. My hand twitches as I reach for his. Unfailingly, the bolt of electricity rushes through my muscles when we touch. He rubs his thumb on my palm and the friction our skins create gallops to my chest, igniting the passion it’s been keeping for a while now. Without letting go of each other’s hands, we settle on a curved blue sofa at the center of the room. He gently pulls my hand to his lap as he crosses his legs.
I wet my lips first before uttering the thoughts that are bothering me. “Are you disappointed that I came here?”
“Yes.”
I purse my lips at his emotionless response, then I ask next, “You’re not mad, are y
