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My heart has held a
place for him since I was fifteen years old. I never thought I’d actually be
friends with him, let alone friends who held hands.
When we get to the
library, I unfortunately have to unclasp our fingers so I can get my keys and
open the door. I turn to tell him thank you when he pushes the door open and motions
for me to precede him. “Ga—”
“Go.” He interrupts
me, and instead of arguing, I go in and turn on the lights. After I set my
purse beneath my desk, I stand fully and twitch at the shock of seeing him so
close. “I’m gonna take off. You done at six?”
“You don’t need to
“Cady, baby, I don’t
do anything I don’t want to. So stop telling me what I don’t need when I know
exactly what I want.”
My breath freezes in
my throat at the implication.
“So I’ll ask again,
are you off at six?”
Unable to form a
sentence, I simply nod.
And then he leans
forward, just slightly, and I jump when his hand slides through my hair and his
fingers cradle my head. His lips ever so gently brush against my cheek, and he
glides his hand out of my hair, down my neck, and halfway over my collarbone
before he lifts it again and cups my jaw, then runs his thumb across my lower
lip. “Later, sugar.”
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