There is nothing so bad as anticipation.
The pulse races. The breath shallows. The blood cools in your veins.
I want so badly to be wrong about my suppositions. I want to believe that if I could have been wrong about the way he nearly creamed his jeans when he said my name that I could be wrong about .........
I had thought all this time that there was a chance. And it only occurred to me a few days ago that I was told about the rule to be gently let down. Afterall, isn't that a tactic I have used in the past? But then how could I explain the attention, the voice, the gaze, dripping with desire?
And if that is what he can chose...
The throat closes. The tears come. The bottom falls out of my heart.
