Butterflies tickle my stomach as I make my way into the Grace Rainey Rogers Auditorium. We’ve got a pretty good turn out considering it’s a bright and sunny Thursday afternoon, the seven hundred seat venue a little more than half full. I’m still slightly awestruck over the fact that they have all shown up and paid to hear me babble about Byzantine art for a couple of hours.

Five years at the museum and I still can’t believe this is my job. Associate Curator for the Greek and Roman department of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and with my boss retiring at the end of the summer the “associate” in my title will drop and I’ll be the youngest curator on staff. This was my dream and I’m living it. It took a lot of hard work but I’m here and that’s what matters.

I stand next to the stage, looking nervously through my notes. I know this stuff backwards and forwards but still it’s my first lecture in the auditorium, most of my previous experience having been in gallery talks or in the smaller lecture hall. My eyes flit across the page, but they catch on “emperor Justinian” and my throat tightens like it always does when his memory catches me off guard.

Justin’s smiling face rushes through my brain like a tidal wave and I smile softly, watching him laugh and carry on in my minds eye. It’s been a little over ten years since I left him in that hotel in Houston, but there’s still a little place in my heart that I keep reserved especially for him and the love that we shared.

Is it sad to admit that still think about him? Still miss him every now and then when I lay awake at night unable to sleep for some reason or another. I go through these phases where I have to know where he is and what he’s doing and thanks to America’s voyeuristic obsession it’s not that hard. I’ve watched him grow as a man and as a musician, watched him date and get his heart broken. I almost called him when Justified came out and all the hoopla about his break up with Britney was all over the news. I wanted to tell him how proud I was. I wanted to ask him if he was okay. But I decided against it at the last minute. We’d moved on and he didn’t need me to come sweeping in and getting his head all mixed up right when he was starting a new chapter in his career and in his life.

Other times I can’t stand to even hear his name and avoid even the mere mention of him, which was particularly difficult when the man sold out four shows at Madison Square Garden twice and the second time around the entire city was abuzz about his HBO special. I’d avoided the first leg of the tour, but I couldn’t stay far away for too long and I watched him from the upper level, which I thought was a fairly safe distance from the stage. But when he came down the ramp during “Summer Love” I thought we’d locked eyes for a moment but he was gone in a flash and I’m sure it was just wishful thinking on my part.

“You ready, Sky?”

I look up and find Connie smiling widely at me, standing at the bottom of the steps that lead up to the stage. I grin back. She and I have been best friends since starting at the museum, she interning in the public affairs department while I was the newly hired as a lowly departmental assistant. We bonded over cream cheese bagels and a heated discussion on Greek bronzes and their Roman marble replicas. We’ve been best friends ever since.

I nod and she turns, making her way up to the podium. A hush comes over the crowd and my nerves kick in but I push them down. They are here to listen to me speak. They are here for me. I can do this.

"Ladies and gentlemen…" Connie announces and the room silences completely, "Our lecture today on Byzantine Art will be conducted by the Mets’ own Dr. Skylar McKibbons. Dr. McKibbons received her bachelor of fine arts degree from Pratt Institute in Greek and Macedonian Studies before moving on to Northwestern University to get her Master of fine arts and PH.D in that subject along with a Master of the Arts and Doctorate in Byzantine Art and Archetecture. She received a Master of the Arts degree from Columbia University in museum anthropology and her book Myceneans: Life in Bronze Age Greece, has been called “an indispensable starting point for the study of the Greek Bronze Age” by USA Today. Please help me welcome, Dr. Skylar McKibbons.”

Connie steps back from the podium, clapping and smiling at me as I make my way up onto the stage.

“Nice intro,” I whisper with a giggle. “Think you could have made me sound any more like an overeducated ass?”

“You’re lucky I didn’t mention your tutoring gig,” she whispers with a wry smile, pinching my elbow and I roll my eyes as she walks past to trot down the stairs

It didn’t take me long to figure out Connie was a big fan of Justin’s. One of the first things we did together outside of work was have a Grammy party at her apartment. It was one of those times when I was avoiding everything about him so I didn’t even know he was nominated much less that he was going to be there. When I saw him on the red carpet my eyes nearly bulged out of my head and I was so swept up I barely heard Connie bouncing and clapping on the couch. I downed three glasses of wine by the time the red carpet show was over. When they announced that he had won, Connie was cheering I was holding back tears. That was his dream. He had talked about it some nights when we were laying in bed. How bad he had wanted the respect, how he knew he had the talent to get one of those little gold statues, he just needed the right production and songs.

Connie had looked back and asked me why I was crying and luckily I was sober enough to simply choke out that I used to be his art tutor, that we used to be friends, that I was just proud of him. She completely whigged out and still teases me about it to this day.

“Thank you, Connie,” I say, smiling at her as she takes her seat and she nods her head at me grinning encouragingly.

I look out over the crowd and it’s pretty evenly dispersed over the entire room, mostly a middle aged crowd in suits and skirts; your typical art lecture scene. There are a few younger kids too, college students maybe here on assignment. There’s a guy in the fourth row with a really bad toupee. On the left, a kid in a sweatshirt with the hood up is leaning sideways in his chair, leg jittering. There’s a man in a leather jacket and a ball cap sitting toward the middle of the room. My eyes hold on him for a moment, a tingle of familiarity hitting me but I brush it away.

“Today I will be speaking on Byzantine Art. I’d like to get started by asking what exactly is classified as Byzantine Art? Byzantine art is the term commonly used to describe the artistic products of the Byzantine Empire from about the 4th century until the fall of Constantinople in 1453.The term can also be used for the art of Eastern Orthodox states which were contemporary with the Byzantine Empire…”

This is going well. I yammer on, giving a basic overview, looking from my notes to the crowd. Toupee is taking notes. Hoodie’s leg is still jittering and my eyes catch the man in the leather jacket again. His face is partially obscured by the bald man in front of him. He’s leaning against the arm rest, chin propped on his hand. I can’t shake the feeling I know him.

I go on into the Early Byzantine periods, talking about the Edict of Milan and the dedication of Constantinople. I suppress my smile as I move into the Age of Justinian and Toupee’s pen is still flying across the page. Hoodie’s leg has stopped jittering and he sits up straighter in his chair. The guy in the leather jacket shifts in his seat and now I can’t see his face at all. Why is this bothering me so much?

I press on through the Seventh-Century Crisis and Iconoclasm and then spend a little too much time on Macedonian art because I stray from my notes somewhat, getting caught up in the Greek heritage. Toupee is searching through his bag for more paper. Hoodie is leaning to the side again, hand pressed to his mouth. The guy in the leather jacket has shifted again but his face is still half obscured by the bald man in front of him. There’s something about the way he’s sitting….

I shake my head continuing on through the Comnenian Age and the Palaeologan Age and begin to wrap up, talking about the legacy of the era. Toupee’s pen seems to have run out of ink so he’s just sitting back and listening. Hoodie’s leg is out in the aisle and jittering again and the guy in the leather jacket hasn’t moved for the past twenty minutes. I’m wracking my brain trying to figure out where I may know him from…

“Byzantine traditions in icon-painting and other small-scale arts survived, especially in the Venetian-ruled Crete and Rhodes, where a "post-Byzantine" style under increasing Western influence survived for a further two centuries, producing El Greco and other significant artists. I would like to thank you all for your time and consideration. That ends our lecture today.”

I give a nod to the crowd as they applaud, smiling a little to myself because I killed it. Well, as much as one really can in an art lecture. Toupee is standing up and applauding enthusiastically. Hoodie is standing up from his seat and stretching but still applauding. The guy in the leather jacket is still slouched low in his seat, clapping easily.

I step down from the stage, trying to keep my eye on him but Connie is up to me in a second telling me how awesome I did. He’s gotten up and is swallowed in the crowd but I can still see him just slightly, maybe if I hurry I can catch him. I tell Connie that I’ll see her in a bit and make my way up the side aisle and out into the large marble lobby. He’s making his way to the doors. I begin after him.

“Dr. McKibbons!”

My name echoes slightly in the large lobby and I turn around to see the kid in the hoodie jogging towards me. I look over my shoulder just in time to see the man in the leather jacket slip out the door. I sigh frowning slightly as I turn and my breath catches in my throat.

He’s striding closer and I notice he’s tall, taller than me, with brown hair, more wavy than curly, smoothed down a little on his forehead, barely visible for the hood that’s pulled low around his handsome face. His blue eyes shine at me even from ten feet away and his smile…god his smile lights up the fucking room.

He stops about three feet from me and neither of us speak, and we just stare, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest because he’s here, in front of me, right now. I can’t breathe. I don’t need to breathe because he’s here.

“Hey,” he says softly, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Hey,” I reply with a voice that’s not my own and I can’t stop grinning. I’m smiling so hard it hurts my face.

An awkward silence descends on us and he looks down at the floor, watching his pristine sneakers scuff against the marble and I can’t believe he’s here standing in front of me. I could just stare at him for days. Stubbled jaw, slight frame, and his eyes…god when they meet mine he just sees me and I’m twenty-three years old again and it’s summer and I’m in some random city and he’s with me. He’s with me.

“Some lecture,” he says after a moment, nodding his head and sighing and I grin at him.

“Liked that, did ya?” I ask and he beams at me.

“Well worth the twenty-three bucks,” he chuckles and I smirk at him.

“You actually bought a ticket?” I ask, giggling slightly and I’m sure my face is going to break from smiling so hard.

“Well, yeah,” he chuckles nodding his head. “What’d you think I’d do? Sneak in?”

“Well, the Justin I remember had a way of charming people into giving him things.”

I think my heart may burst when he ducks his head and his cheeks pinken, biting his lip as he peers back up at me. He grins charmingly as he shrugs his shoulders, an easy confidence washing over him.

“Nah, I don’t do that anymore,” he sighs. “I don’t even need the charm, really, they just give me things.”

I laugh and he does too, beaming back at me. He always loved it when I laughed at his jokes. Our laugher dies away and we just stare at each other again, trying to memorize each others features. It’s been so long…

“It’s been a long time,” he says quietly, tilting his head to the side and I nod, smiling softly. “You wanna…um…go get a coffee or something…catch up?”

He shifts slightly, trying to pull his features into an unaffected and easy expression, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I grin at him widely.

“I would love that,” I say and his smile dazzles me.

He offers me his elbow and I hesitate for a moment before looping my arm through his. He pulls me closer to him, tugging my body flush against his side and his scent surrounds me, not the dark woodsy scent from when I knew him but a deep flowery scent that was uniquely masculine. I fight the urge to let my head drop to his shoulder, my heart fluttering at the warmth from his body.

Justin looks over his shoulder, giving a slight nod. I lean forward a little and see Tiny emerge from the crowd, hulking and glaring like always. I smile at him and he gives an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgement before sidling in front of us and we follow him out of the museum.

“There’s a little place just down the street,” I say and Justin gives me a tight lipped smile and a nod, keeping his head bowed as we trot slowly down the steps.

The sun shines on us brightly and it’s fairly warm for early March so the streets are a little more crowded than usual. Justin’s arm is looped easily through mine and when I chance a glance at him, his eyes are looking ahead, surveying his surroundings easily. He ducks his head a little when Tiny pulls back to let us lead and I steer us in the direction of the coffee house where Connie and I usually get our midmorning fix everyday.

His arm slips from mine as we approach the door, his hand brushing mine as he lets go and I shiver. He opens the door for me, smiling as he gestures me inside. I step in and the familiar scent of coffee beans fills my senses and I can feel him right behind me, no more than a breath away and I still can’t believe he’s here. After all these years he’s here with me again. My mind flutters, briefly wondering why he’s here. Why he picked now after all these years but I push it away. He’s here. That’s all that matters.

“You wanna sit by the window?” I ask, gesturing to my usual table that looks out over the street.

He hesitates for a moment, eyeing it warily before smiling a little uneasily and nods his head. “Sure.”

I study him for a moment, perplexed at his hesitance and then as Tiny squeezes through the door I remember who he is. What a strange life he must lead now. Always having to be conscious of where he is and what he does. I missed that part of his life. I missed the progression into this. I can’t even imagine what it’s like. I look down.

“Oh…um…how about a booth in the back,” I say and he smiles, looking slightly relieved nodding at me.

He follows me through the small cafe and we slide into a booth that’s right next to the kitchen, everyone else closer to the front of the house, ensuring us, mainly him, some privacy. Tiny sits a few tables away, spreading a newspaper out in front of him, his eyes flitting around the cafe every now and then. Justin sits across from me and looks around before pushing the hood from his head, adjusting his curls nervously. I smile. Some things never change.

“So,” he sighs, folding his hands on the table and grinning easily at me. “How’s life?”

I chuckle. “Not bad.”

“Obviously,” he replies, his eyes dancing mischievously. “Never thought you'd be the one filling auditoriums, huh?”

I laugh. “Well, it’s not Madison Square Garden, but it'll do.”

He looks down and grins just as the waitress makes her way over. She’s a older lady, probably in her mid-forties and I thank god it’s not my usual waitress who’s nineteen and giggly.

“Good afternoon, what’ll you have?” she asks, barely looking at either of us.

“Um,” Justin says, looking at me uncertainly before a slow smile creeps over his face. “Hot chocolate?”

I bow my head, fighting the giggle that’s forcing its way from my throat and nod at him. He grins at me.

“Two please,” he says, holding up two fingers and looking up at the waitress.

She’s staring at him as if awestruck, her mouth slightly agape. I raise an eyebrow and look at him. He smiles at her encouragingly and her mouth snaps shut before stuttering something about being back in a second and scurries away. Justin turns to me completely unaffected.

“Just like old times, huh?” he grins and I can’t help but smile back before asking him the question that’s been floating around my brain since I saw him.

“How’d you find me?”

He looks down picking at his fingernails somewhat bashfully. “I read your book review in the paper.” I blink at him, shocked. “They said you worked at the Met so I figured I’d drop by and check it out.”

“And I just happened to be giving a lecture?” I ask and his blush deepens.

“I may have done a little research before just showing up,” he concedes and then smiles at me. “You’re a pretty successful woman, Sky.”

My breath catches in my throat when he says my name and a flood of emotion hits me. Isn’t it funny how you close yourself off from feeling things? I had done everything in my power to bury those emotions. One word from him and it all just comes rushing back.

“You haven’t done so bad for yourself either, Justin,” I smirk back and his eyelids flutter slightly before he licks his lips and smiles, holding my gaze evenly and we don’t speak, just stare.

I jump when the waitress comes back, setting our mugs of hot chocolate in front of us, smiling in a flustered way as she sets down napkins and spoons for us. She takes a deep breath, holding her notepad in shaking hands.

“Justin, I…um…my daughter just loves you,” she says breathlessly and there is no way this woman is this torn up because her daughter loves him. “If you could just…”

She can’t even finish, just holds out her notepad and pen in shaking hands. Justin smiles easily, taking it from her and signing it before handing it back to her. She stares down at it in awe and it takes everything in me not to giggle. She thanks him breathlessly and backs away. He sighs turning back to me.

“What?” he asks, chuckling slightly.

“You even have soccer moms in love with you,” I chuckle and he smirks at me.

“Yeah, well…you know how that goes,” he replies candidly and the bastard actually has the nerve to wiggle his eyebrows at me.

“Justin!” I exclaim at his daring and he throws his head back laughing, putting a hand to his chest and sighing as it subsides.

“Come on, Sky…we’re both adults…now,” he smirks and I narrow my eyes pursing my lips at him. “So, tell me what you’ve been up to,” he pushes, staring at me intently.

“Not much,” I sigh. “Working mostly.”

“I know how that goes,” he says smiling. “You switched schools, I heard,” he says bringing his cup to his lips and pauses when I give him a searching look, “from the intro to your lecture. You moved to Northwestern for your doctorate.”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly stay,” I say and it comes out more bitter than I intended. He snorts.

“Yeah, your professor was a dick,” he spats, setting his mug down again. “You know that motherfucker had me retake almost EVERY test you gave me.”

“Figures,” I mutter, sipping my hot chocolate and it burns my lips. I hiss, pulling back abruptly, whipped cream dotting my chin.

“Here,” he says, his large hand reaching out, smudging across my jaw and I’m twenty-three years old in the courtyard of the Getty museum, the memory so strong it steals my breath.

His fingers caress my cheek slowly, our eyes locked, and I don’t dare move. My heart is threatening to beat out of my chest. He swallows hard, shaking his head a little as he pulls his hand back, sucking his thumb into his mouth and then grinning at me innocently. Ten years and he still turns me on with the simplest of gestures.

“Tell me about yourself, Sky,” he says softly, his eyes pleading with me and I still know him well enough to know that he needs this. He wants to feel close to me again.

I tell him that after I left I had gone home and spent the remaining weeks before school started scrambling to transfer to Northwestern, how I had to threaten Andrew again for a letter of recommendation. He hadn’t know about the first time so the string of obscenities he let fly was particularly amusing to me, seeing him still so protective of me after all these years. I tell him about the year and a half I spent living in Greece, Romania, Turkey…anywhere with an excavation going on and a place to sleep. I tell him about moving to New York and about my first apartment in the city. He laughs openly when I tell him about Connie.

“So,” he says after a moment, running his finger around the rim of his mug, “are you dating anybody?”

I nearly spit out my hot chocolate. “What’s it to you?”

“Just wondering,” he grins unaffected by my playful response. I try to throw him off by not responding right away, but he is undaunted and smiling.

“No,” I say finally and his eye brows rise, nodding slowly. “I have, I mean you know in the past but…I dunno…nothing stuck.”

“Yeah,” he replies sighing, his eyes holding mine. “Me either.”

The silence is thick between us now as I stare at him, trying to read him but his expression is pleasant and gives away nothing. He couldn’t possibly…there’s no way he came all the way here just…just to see me. He can’t possibly want to…I mean it would be difficult to fathom him…still wanting me…after all this time. I mean seeing me again is one thing…but we didn’t just run into each other. He sought me out. He said himself he did research.

“Oh, come on,” I say, brushing away the thought. “you’re trying to tell me you don’t have any girls you’re seeing right now?”

He shrugs. “Not really. I had a girl for a bit.” He shrugs again. “Fizzled out. She wasn’t the right girl for me.” His eyes hold mine again.

I nod and I’m trying to read him, trying so damn hard to see him and I used to be able to do this so well! Then again, he used to be a lot worse at hiding his emotions. His face is unreadable. I don’t know what he wants.

Maybe the person I should be questioning is myself. Do I want him? My response comes instantly. Of course I do. Yes, but will it be good for me. Oh you know it will be good for you. A rush of heat flushes through me and I have to look away, lest he see right through me. Would that really be so bad? Letting him know that I still want him? The aftermath could be devastating…but what if there was no aftermath…what if it was just me and him…together again.

“So what are you doing in town?” I ask in what I hope is a jovial way, bringing my mug to my lips, “besides stalking me.”

He laughs. “Oh, I’m inducting Madonna into the Rock N’ Roll Hall of Fame,” he replies, waving his hand, disinterestedly.

I blink at him. “Oh, is that all,” I reply and he grins sheepishly.

“Yeah,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders. “And seeing you. Highlight of my trip, right here,” he adds, tapping the table with his fingers.

I bite my lip, trying to contain my smile. Even after all these years, he still makes me feel like I’m the most important thing to him. No one has ever made me feel as worthwhile and special as he did. He was the first person who showed me that I didn’t have to fight to be perfect. That he thought I was perfect just the way I was. And I loved him for that. I still do.

“And where does your mother think you are?” I tease gently and he gives me condescending look, pursing his lips before smiling.

“She knows I went to a lecture at the Met,” he says and grins, bringing his mug to his lips. “Your lecture.”

My face blanches. “She…you told her about us?”

He nearly chokes on his hot chocolate. “No,” he chuckles. “There a few things she doesn’t know about.” He grins. “You are one of them.”

I smirk at him and he smirks back. He tilts his head to the side and bites his lip, his eyes roving over me. His eyes are deep and blue and even though it s been ten years I still fall into them. I’m falling. Hard and fast, I’m falling into him like I always did.

I shake my head. “I saw your show,” I say abruptly, and his face shows shock because I guess it was kind of random, “At the Garden…the second leg. I think it was the third show. It was really great.”

He smiles, his eyes narrowing at me a little before biting his lip, “Were you by the ramp? On the left?”

My jaw falls to the floor and I cannot speak. He’s smiling at me a little unsure and I shake my head trying to clear it.

“Yeah…in the seats,” I stutter slightly and he beams.

“I thought I saw you…or someone that looked like you. I figured it was just wishful thinking on my part.”

And there it is again. Another clue. Does he want me? Does he just want to sleep with me? He’s eyeing me from over the rim of his mug, his blue eyes deep and penetrating and oh yeah, he wants me. What do I want? He licks his lips slowly, smiling at me and my stomach quivers. Well, obviously I want him, but what would that mean? And why is he here now. Why after all this time?

“You’ve…you’ve done well for yourself,” I stutter, forcing a smile and he blinks at me

“Pretty good for a sparkly dance boy?” he questions playfully and I blush, regret tasting bitter in my mouth.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice catching in my throat on words that I’ve wanted to say for ten years. “I…I never…treated you the way I should have. You deserved more than-”

“Stop,” he says, his voice soft and deep and I look up to see his eyes gazing at me seriously. “You were only trying to protect me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I see now, of course, now that I’m,” he chuckles, “older, that it couldn’t have been easy for you. I’m sorry I wasn’t-”

“Stop,” I say and he smiles at me, bowing his head to me in concession.

We’re quiet again and I marvel at how he’s grown. He’s still Justin. He still has that playfulness to him but there’s a quiet confidence in him. He sits in this booth in the back of some coffee shop in New York City and he exudes this aura like he owns it. Not in a cocky way, just in that subtle way that shows he knows who he is. He’s a man in every sense now. I’ve never been more proud of him than I am now. I’ll never love him more than I do right now.

“I’ve missed you, Skylar,” he says softly, his eyes on his hands that are wrapped around his mug. “I’ve missed you a lot.”

My heart is thundering in my chest. I can’t see his eyes. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I can’t read him any more. I don’t know what to do.

“You’ve missed me?” I laugh, trying to defuse his statement.

“I still think about you.”

I swallow hard. “Really? Written any songs about me?”

“Yes,” he replies quietly and my heart stops, “on the first album…and before…with the guys.”

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. “I thought those were about Britney.”

“’Gone’ wasn’t.” his eyes meet mine and his voice is hard. “‘Still On My Brain’” wasn’t.”

I’m not breathing as he swallows hard and taps the mug on the table. I don’t know what to say. I mean, I know what to say but I’ve seemed to have lost my voice. It’s all so much, so fast. Ten years is a long time and he’s…I watch him bite at his bottom lip nervously… he’s right here. It would be so easy to just… but would it be right?

“You know…” he says softly, avoiding my gaze by staring down into his empty mug, “all this time I've been cultivating my career, garnering this respect, making records. I've been at the top of the charts and I've sold out arenas. I've been with women...lots of women,” he pauses to grin at me sheepishly but doesn’t meet my eyes. “but...I'm just...” he sighs, finally letting go of his mug and flopping back against the booth. He runs a hand through his hair, disheveling it and then flattening his hand over it to tame it again. “I'm just not happy. I haven’t been for awhile,” he swallows hard, “since…since…”

He pauses and since you left hangs in the air between us like a noose. He clears his throat pressing on.

“I thought maybe I was working to hard,” he chuckles, “So I took that break after my first tour thinking maybe…you know maybe I just needed some time, but then I was even more miserable because I wasn’t making music so…” he sighs, “I went back into the studio and back on tour and did movies and now I’m producing and I have everything I’ve ever dreamed of.” He sighs, his face pensive as he lets his head loll to the side, his eyes watching his fingers trace the rim of his mug. “I’m still not happy.” And then he looks up at me, blue eyes piercing me down to my soul. “Are you happy Sky?"

He’s staring at me intently, steadily and while I can see a hint of nervousness in his eyes he’s not scared. He never was when he laid his heart out to me. I was always the one that was scared. I think about what he’s asked me. Am I happy? I have two Ph.Ds, I’ve lived all over the world. I’m working at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and I’m about to become the youngest department curator on staff. I have a nice rent controlled apartment on the Upper East Side. I make good money. My life is exactly what I wanted it to be.

“No, Justin,” I say swallowing hard, my eyes not leaving his as I make a confession that I’ve never even made to myself. “I haven't been happy since I got on that elevator ten years ago.”

His eyes close and he heaves a sigh of relief as he reaches across the table and takes my hands in his. He runs his thumbs over my knuckles and his palms are warm and smooth and I can feel goose bumps break out over my skin. His eyes are on mine and I see a quiet lust burning in them and it sets my body on fire. How can he still do this to me? After all these years, how can he still make me want him with just a look?

“You wanna go back to the hotel?”