...just smoking cigarettes and talking because neither one of them wanted to be the first to say good night.
It was the summer of endless conversations... grabbing a last minute beer at Peter McManus or any neighborhood dive bar...She would randomly catch herself looking at his hands, his fingers...she dared to let her mind wonder what they would feel like against her, inside her.
Once she'd watched his Adam's apple move as he talked, wondering if she leaned over and placed her lips there...what would he do?
How did he kiss like, taste like, fuck like?
But instead...she would just take a long, deep drag of her cigarette, exhale slowly in his direction with a smirk...and he would just smile back at her. And they'd keep on talking...because talking was safe.
