It takes every single ounce of self-control I have not to throw this goddamn glass of wine I’m holding to the floor and crush my mouth to hers. I need to taste her so much I’m almost salivating.
She senses it. Looking up at my face, her cheeks color. She glances away again, swallowing.
“I need to talk to my parents. They probably think I had a mental breakdown. I was shouting like a lunatic when I called them.”
I keep my voice gentle, so I don’t scare her away with a needy growl. “Of course. I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
I turn to walk away, but she stops me by saying my name.
When I turn back to her, I see how hard she’s trying to hold it together. Her lower lip is quivering and her face is pale, but her shoulders are straight and she’s standing tall.
She says
