She glances at me quickly, biting down as though she’s shocked I spoke to her. I remember our phone conversation and the agreement we made. I had to hang up; otherwise, I was going to tell her exactly who she belonged to.
I was going to tell her everything.
“I’m not sure,” she says softly. “I want to make my living with pictures, but I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“You’ll be great at whatever you choose,” June says, taking the words right out of my mouth.
It’s probably for the best her friend said it instead of me. I wouldn’t be able to hide the huskiness of my voice, the hungry note of claiming her.
The dinner goes on.
Luckily – or maybe it’s unluckily – Becca and I don’t talk again. I came too close the last time, too near to revealing the fire she sparks in me.
I manage to stay a civilized man for the rest of the evening. But then, as everybody is leaving, I can’t help it. It’s like the primal need takes over, or maybe that’s an excuse.
Maybe I just need her. I know I can’t fight it.
It’s watching her all evening that does it, the way her body shifts, the corner of her lip twitching into a bright smile. I can’t fight the urge, even if I know I have to, for Alex and to be a good person.
I scrawl the note on a scrap of paper. As I walk by her, I drop it in her bag. She glances at it, at me, biting her lip as she looks away.
This is so wrong.
But I can’t stop.