The smell of his leather seats lingers in my nostrils, a scent more intoxicating than the taste of the second round of Tito’s and soda that he’d slid to me across the marble countertop just an hour before. My hands are jammed underneath my thighs while my wavy hair slides haphazardly across my cheeks. His face is glowing in the redness of the stoplight; words are patiently waiting to escape his lips. And, I want to freeze here, in the magic and the madness, before those syllables roll off of his tongue. My sister loves you. My roommate loves you. And, they don’t understand why I can’t tell... Read More