17 GRIFFINWhen I told Layne that I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about what happened between us at my sister’s engagement party, I wasn’t kidding.
Last night, I dreamed about the firm press of her hungry lips against mine. This morning, I burned my hand on my coffee, too preoccupied with fantasies of her soft curves against my palms. Later in the day, I broke the tip of my favorite lining pen, remembering the distinct sensation of entering her. To say I’m distracted would be an understatement.
I pick up my phone to text her, because apparently I’m still the same thirsty fuckboy I was back in college. “Love struck,” Kristen would say. And for once, I don’t think I’d argue with her.
WYD?
I click SEND and lean back in my swivel chair in my home office, rocking aimlessly from side to s
