LEON
The car ride to school the next morning is suffocating, but it is not because of the bitter coldness that usually sits between us. The air in the confined space of the SUV is thick, heavy, and humming with electricity. Every time Leon reaches down to shift gears, my eyes track the movement of his hands, my mind instantly flashing back to the kitchen.
I can’t stop thinking about the hard, tattooed lines of his bare chest. The image is engraved in my mind. I can still feel the radiating heat of his skin, the roughness of his calloused hands gripping my waist as he lifted me onto the marble counter. I remember the sharp hitch in my breath when our mouths were inches apart.
We almost kissed.
The realization settles in my stomach and knots my insides with a frustrated, desperate ache.
