Flint
I take her hand when she offers it to me, still a little in shock, and follow her out of my classroom as she guides me. She drops it as soon as she sees that there are a few people scattering the halls, but sends me a sly smile that has even more of an effect on me than her hand. I wave an awkward goodbye to the few students and teachers I recognize, and by the time we reach my car, I’m the one who can’t keep his hands to himself.
I know better than to kiss her in a public place in broad daylight, but I can’t help touching her—her hands; her jawbone; her shoulder blades; her thighs. She has such soft, amazing skin. Every second I touch her feels electric.
I try to stop touching her as we settle into the car and I pull out onto the road, but the moment I stop, she starts; we’re
