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          During the hour-long cab ride between the Lower East Side and King’s Point, Ana was glad she had happened upon a driver that wasn’t chatty. She was so inside her own head right then, she couldn’t have carried on a conversation with a gun to her temple.

          When she closed her eyes, all she could see were his. She kept hearing his voice in her mind, whispering, God, you’re beautiful—which made her heart skip a beat—and, Do you want it?—which made her want it again. Badly. She could still feel his kiss and the way he cradled her head in his hands when he did. She could still smell his cologne and feel him next to her. When the cab had pulled away from the curb, she had immediately wanted to shout at the driver to go back and let her out. She wanted to curl up in the quiet safety of his arms and never, ever, leave.

          She felt like a giddy high schooler with a wild crush that was quickly becoming so much more. She hadn’t been this crazy about someone since…

          Since ever. Not even her actual high school crushes had made her feel quite this vibrantly alive, this euphorically real.

          The way I’m feeling right now? It’s usually the first step.

          Stop. You’ll hurt him!

         Oh god, what is happening to me?


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