8
Jackie
A week ago, Angela Hill was but a distant memory. Tonight she’s coming to my house for dinner. I’ve had a hard time focusing on any of my clients’ tales, because her face keeps popping up at the most inopportune moments. Those sharp cheekbones, that steely gaze. Her wavy hair, shorter than it was before, which I long to run my fingers through. That slice of desire that coursed through me during dinner hasn’t left. It has taken up permanent lodgings inside of me, flaring up when I’m trying to fall asleep at night, and when I open my eyes first thing in the morning.
And I remember that it was the same twenty years ago. I should have stopped it. I should have been the wiser one and taken my responsibilities more seriously, but when it came to Angela Hill, I had no control.
I star
