For a moment, neither Alex nor I move. I think we're both too stunned - and I'm still gasping for breath. When I begin to feel the pain in my side, though, I twist, and that only makes things worse. I end up on my back, with him still on top of me.
Instantly, thoughts of the Night That Shall Never Be Mentioned - which, I suppose, should now be called the Night We Had to Talk About but I'd Like to Forget Now - come rushing back. He was on top of me just like this. His muscles were pressed against me just like this. His breath washed across my cheek just like this.
On that night, though, at least he was wearing boxers and an undershirt. Now he's only wearing a towel, a fact that I'm all too aware of. My hands are braced against his damp chest, his skin smooth over the hardness of his muscl
