Whether motivated by the smell of him flooding the car, or the sweet attentiveness in his voice, or by the wine, I hurriedly ask "Do you want to come in?"
"To your appartment?" Chris asks, his brow furrowed and lips puckered.
"Where the f**k else would I mean?"
Scrambling from the car seat, I walk up the steep steps of the apartment building, the irregular clacking of my heels sounding through the otherwise quiet street. I look back to see Chris peering at me through the open passenger side window, his mouth slightly ajar as though dumbfounded.
"Well, are you coming or what?"
"Yes, m'am."
This moment feels like a far cry from just this morning, when Chris had turned up on my doorstep asking to talk. We'd agreed to be friends, and I was so sure that was what I had wanted. Now, in the
