Shoulder to shoulder, it was that day we sat on the same bench we had on the day we first met. With a sweater clad elbow, I gently nudged his. "Have we ever hugged?" Startling even myself, I feigned a cough, clearing my throat of whatever I wanted him to believe impeded it.
Tearing my gaze away from the sun setting in the distance, my eyes landed on a flustered mug, a blush tinting his cheeks that were evidently not the effect of the weather.
In rhythm with my heartbeat, he answered, "I'm afraid to embrace you."
I gulped and tilted my head and asked, "Why?"
"You might find out how fast my heart beats inside my chest,
"And I might find out how faster it does were you pressed against me."
YOU ARE READING
Cup's
Short StoryFor Curtis Paisley, days pass like bland, monotonous paragraphs of plain thought and narration; till a strong gush of storm and gray eyes flipped through the pages almost aimlessly, before finally settling to the paragraph of his appearance... and w...
