Meet Me Halfway

we’d agreed to no label, no serious commitment. Sure, he’d stared down Michael when the poor man had tried to catch me alone to talk. And sure, I was pretty positive I’d cut the tongue out of any woman who tried to hit on him, but regardless. We definitely weren’t official.

“On a scale of one to ten, how creepy would it sound if I told you I came to watch you work?”
“A solid ten.”
He took a step forward. “What if I said I came to watch you work because I couldn’t stand the thought of going an entire day and night without seeing you?”
Oh God. Oh God, oh God. “That’d drop it to a six or seven, maybe,”

He was dry humping me in the middle of my living room with the lights on, against a cold door, and I could still imagine myself screaming out his name.