“There is something about him,” she said. Her tongue was running alongside the inner flesh of her mouth, she released the pressure built up with a tiny click that put an emphasis on her next syllable. “I’m turned on by being next to him,” she said,” I rubbed his leg under the table, can you believe I would do that!?” “I’ve decided I won’t see him again, I know I can’t win him over, our friendship is badly strained with the way I feel and if I ever made the mistake to sleep with him, I’d be in love. Why would I do that to myself?” Her eyes shifted to the outside and she blinked rapidly at the window, taking pity on the lonely squirrel eating his dinner for one.
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