Daddy's little good bad boy
I pour myself a glass, and when I move to pour his scotch, he catches the bottle in my grip, his hand grazing mine lightly, like his feathery kiss in his car.
I force my hand away, and take a sip of the wine to slow down my racing heart. I had so many things to tell him, to ask him, for some reason it was difficult. Back at the resort I wouldn’t stop talking, and now, I couldn’t find the words.
“I like to read. I was reading the book for the Harry Potter series you like so much, and I prefer the books.” This was the first time he gave up information about himself so willfully.