{May 12, 2013}   That Cold Night

My eyes follow him discreetly.
Easier to do with long shaggy hair and bangs always in my face.
I pretend I'm sketching and scribble lines on a page face down but my eyes gravitate in his direction one time too many and he catches me watching.
No surprise there, he always catches me.
I try to shrug it off and look cool with a half-smirk and a cocked-eyebrow then feel stupid when I remember I'm hiding behind my hair.
I can't seem to hide from him though. He sees right through me.
There's too many people tugging at him, everyone wants to bask in his glow as if just being near him will make them marginally cooler or something.
When I can't stand seeing yet another overly-cleavaged drunken mess attempting to slobber all over him I slide my sketchbook into my bag and slip out the side door for some fresh air and a cigarette.
Yeah, makes no sense to me either.
At least it's quiet outside in the cold.
Nobody else wants to brave the freezing temperature but my blood is pumping hot through my veins. My body's natural reaction to him.
A few breaths of cold air and I'm shivering but it's not from the cold, it's from the flash of memory I get as I lean back against the same brick wall he had me up against last time I saw him.
Hard as I try I can't keep myself from replaying it over and over in my mind, the way his hand slid over my hip and pulled me against him. The little gasp escaping my mouth when I felt his lips brush against my neck, my pulse racing under his tongue.
My memory fades as he comes into view looking as hungry as me


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