How did she do that? Never miss a beat? Sooner, my rambling explanation of the five-page rule, a crazy habit he found infinitely endearing.
Someone else who acknowledged literature, perceiving it like fine wine. Smart and deep. And beautiful. Yes, beautiful. I saw myself now as Gabriel had seen me that night: the short skirt, the racy purple top, brilliant as a bird's plumage. Like some exotic creature, hopelessly out of place in the bookstore's dreary landscape.
All of this was in Gabriel, the past of his growing feelings for me mingling with the present, and I drank everything up.
Not just beautiful. Hot. Seductive.
A goddess made flesh whose every move implied at passion to come. The dress strap sliding off my shoulder. Faint drips of perspiration on my cleavage. Standing in his kitchen, clad only in that ridiculous Black Sabbath shirt.
