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He takes a deep breath and waits for me. I can’t say anything. I wouldn’t know what to say even if I could.

“I want to take you to bed, and make love to you all night long.” He cocks a grin at me. “Lips. Tongue. Fingers. Teeth.” He makes a circle motion with his hands. “Should I go on? Or do you understand?”

I nod. I get it. He reaches over and lifts my jaw to closes my mouth. His touch is tender.

“I want to do things to you that you probably couldn’t imagine.” His blue eyes are dark and the centers big and wide.

“I don’t know,” I start. I am imagining all sorts of things right now. And the pulse between my legs is thumping so hard I have to push my legs together to ease some of it. It doesn’t help.

“But even more than I want to lick you all over and make you cry out my name and swear you see God, I want you to trust me. And you don’t. Not yet. But you might one day.”

I’m breathing so hard I feel like I just ran a mile. “I trust you,” I say.

He shakes his head. “No you don’t.” He smiles at me, and my heart flips over. “But you might one day.”

The waitress brings the receipt to the table, and gives him a pen. I see that she’s written her name and phone number on the bottom of the receipt. He tears that part off and gives it back to her. He shakes his head, and tilts his at her, and she looks disappointed. Her heavy bottom lip pokes out.

I look up at her and blink. “I absolutely hate it when skanks try to give my boyfriend their contact information,” I say.

Logan chokes, coughing into his fist.

The waitress steps toward me, but Logan gets between us. That’s good, because I will take that bitch out. “Have you ever slept with her?”

He looks up at her and takes in her features. “I don’t think so,” he says quietly, by my ear.

He’s slept with that many women that he can’t tell one from another?

She huffs away. He tugs me to my feet. “You shouldn’t have called her a skank,” he says with a laugh.

“What do you call a woman who gives her number to a man who’s been holding hands with someone else?” I ask crisply.

“And you shouldn’t have called me your boyfriend.” He looks down at me as he opens the door of the restaurant for me.

“I’m sorry,” I start. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just wanted her to go away.” And I wanted to stake my claim, even though I had no right to one.

He looks down at me beneath the street light. “You shouldn’t have said it because you gave me hope,” he says.

I can’t speak. I can’t utter out a sound.

“Come home with me,” he says.

I shake my head.

He sighs heavily. “You know how this is going to end.”

“I shouldn’t.” I really, really shouldn’t.

“Fine,” he says, and then he bends at the waist and tosses me over his shoulder, just like the night before. Only this time, his hand is on my ass, under my skirt, instead of holding the backs of my legs. It’s hot, pressed against my panties.

I can’t say a word to him, because he wouldn’t hear me. So, I just hang there, all the way to his building, and up four flights of stairs.

He opens the door and walks inside. His brothers are there, and they look up. Sam and Pete snicker, and Paul shoots them a look. Matthew is on the sofa, and he shakes his head.

Logan puts me down. Apparently, I’m not a side show attraction tonight. “Hi,” I say tentatively to them all.

“Hi,” they call back. They don’t get up and rush over to me, not even when he sets me on my feet and steadies me. “You’re back,” Matthew says as he walks to the fridge.

He looks better tonight. Not quite as green.

Sam walks to the kitchen and Paul snarks at him when he reaches for a beer. He takes a soda, instead, grumbling to himself.

Logan signs something to them. Pete tells him the name of the movie, and it’s one I haven’t heard of. Logan points to the TV and then to me asking me if I’ve seen it.

I shake my head. He sets my bag and my guitar on floor, and laces his fingers with mine. He tugs me gently toward the couch. Logan bumps Sam and Pete’s knees until they scoot down. There’s barely enough space for him, much less for me. “I’m going to go take a shower,” I complain.

But he sits down and pulls me into his side, his arm around my shoulders.

Matt gives me a look I don’t understand. He doesn’t seem completely pleased by my being there. Did I do something to offend him?

But Logan looks down at me and smiles, and then places his lips against my forehead. Matt gets up and goes to his room, but not before shooting me a glance that I couldn’t help but take as a warning.

She fell asleep curled into my side. The credits roll on the TV and I don’t want to move. I don’t want to set her away from me. My arm is sweating where she’s pressed up against me, and her hairline is damp. I reach over and brush her hair back, and she blinks her brown eyes at me. “Is it over?” she asks.

She stretches, her arms raising high above her head.

I nod. The movie’s over. But my feelings for her are not. They’re just beginning. I like having her on my couch. And I like it even more that she’s so soft in my arms.

“Good movie,” Paul says.

She looks over at him like she’s surprised he’s there. Sam and Pete went to bed as soon as the credits rolled, and Matt is in bed, too. “Sorry I fell asleep,” she says. She wipes the side of her mouth, and I draw her in to give her a hug. She pulls back all too soon, looking askance at Paul. “I’m going to take a shower,” she says.

I nod and help her to her feet. She picks up her bag and goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I flop back onto the couch and cover my face with my hands. This girl will shred me. I already know she will. And I’m jumping in with everything I am despite the fact that I know it.

“Want to talk about it?” Paul asks. Matt comes into the living room and drops down on the sofa beside me.

You too? I sign and then throw my hands up in surrender.

Matt grins and shrugs his shoulders.

You guys like her, right? I ask. Their opinions do matter to me.

Paul nods, while Matt shakes his head. What the fuck? It’s like they’re at opposite ends of the spectrum.

Matt lays a hand on my knee so I’ll look at him. “I like her,” he says. He’s talking while he signs, which makes it easier to listen. “But how much do you know about her?” His eyebrows draw together.

I don’t know anything about her. Nothing, I admit. I don’t know a damn thing about her. I lean forward so I can prop my elbows on my knees. I feel like I can’t breathe. She won’t tell me anything. Not even her name.

“What’s she hiding?” Matt asks.

I wish I knew. I flop back against the couch again.

“She looks so familiar to me,” Paul says, looking toward the closed bathroom door. He shakes his head. “I wish I could place her.”

She busks in the subway tunnels every day, I sign with a shrug.

“It’s more than that,” Paul says. He shakes his head, like he’s shaking his crazy thoughts away. There’s no way he could know her from anywhere else.

“She staying over again?” Matt asks.

I nod.

“Don’t fall in love with her,” Matt warns.

Paul nods his head in agreement. “Fuck her and be done with her,” he says.

She’s not like that.

Paul exhales heavily. “You haven’t slept with her yet, have you?”

I slept with her. I hang my head. But all we did was sleep.

“You’ve never slept with anyone, dumbass,” Paul says.

I haven’t. Not since my mom died. I used to crawl in bed with her when I was young. Her bed was always warm and smelled like her. After she died, I used to crawl in her empty bed just so I could smell her, until Paul changed the sheets and took that room as his own.

I know. I’ve had plenty of women in my bed. But none of them stayed.

“Stay smart,” Paul says, tapping his temple.

“He’d have to be smart to stay smart,” Matt says, bumping my knee with his. “He’s already half in love with her.” He looks down at his fee and then glares at me. “If you don’t want her, can I ask her out?”

She’s mine! I sign.

He holds his hands up to fend me off. “I know! I know! I said if, asshole. I just wanted to see where your head is.” He heaves a sigh. “Apparently, you really like this one.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think she has bad intentions. But I’m worried about you. Be careful.”

Matt’s in love with April. But she dumped him when she found out he was sick. Self-serving bitch.

“She brought me a bucket when I was sick last night,” Matt admits. “It was nice of her.”

Paul’s eyebrows draw together. “That was you, puking your guts out?” Paul asks.

This is Matt’s second round of chemo. The first didn’t work. This is his last chance. He nods.

Why didn’t you tell us? I ask.

He scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m scared,” he admits. He looks me in the eye and then his gaze moves to meet Paul’s. “I’m going to fucking die,” he says. He grins but there’s nothing funny about it. “So you don’t have to worry about me asking her out.”

“Don’t joke about that shit,” Paul bites out.

“I’m not joking,” Matt says. He’s serious.

Paul leans forward and squeezes Matt’s knee in his hand. “You have to believe it’s going to work. If you don’t, you don’t stand a chance.”

Matt pushes forward to perch on the edge of the sofa. “You guys believe for me, ok?” he says. “Because I’m too fucking tired to do it.” He gets up and goes to his room, closing the door behind him.

“When did he start admitting he’s afraid?” Paul asks.

I shrug. It’s the first time I’ve heard him say it. I look up at Paul. Fear clutches my heart in a death grip. He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?

“I don’t know,” he admits. He swipes a hand down his face.

I pat my shirt pocket, reaching for my cigarettes.

“Matt has fucking cancer, dumbass,” he snarls at me, his hands flying wildly. “And you want to smoke?”

I jerk the pack from my pocket and toss it across the room, into the waste basket.

Paul nods. “Thank you,” he signs dramatically. He sags back into the lazy chair.

He’s going to make it, right? I ask.

He nods. “Of course he is.”

I believe him. Because I can’t imagine a life without Matt in it. I won’t allow myself to think he’s going to die. I just won’t. If Matt can’t believe he’s going to live right now, I’ll believe enough for the two of us.

Paul stands up and ruffles my hair, and it quickly changes into a noogie. I brush his hand away. “Don’t worry,” he says.

The starts down the hallway, and I clap my hands to get his attention. He turns back to me, scratching his stomach. “What?” he asks.

“I want to talk to her,” I admit.

His eyebrows draw together. “Yeah?” He shrugs. “So talk.”

I want to tell him about her dyslexia, so he won’t feel like I’ve been holding out all these years, but that’s not my story to tell. It’s hers. I shake my head. It’s just too hard to explain. She’s making me feel things I’ve never felt before. She makes me want things.

“I wish you’d just fuck her and get it out of your system. Then you can be done with her. And stop wishing for things you can’t have.”

She gasps behind him. Her mouth falls open and her eyes fly open wide. I can imagine her gasp, even if I can’t hear it. But Paul must hear it. His eyes clench shut. “She’s right behind me, isn’t she?” he asks. He opens one eye and looks at me.

Kit’s wrapped in a towel with another turbaned around her head. Paul turns to her, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. It had better be a profuse apology.

She glares at him for no more than a moment, and then she ducks into my bedroom and closes the door behind her.

“Shit,” Paul signs. “I fucked that up.”

He knocks on the bedroom door. He knocks again. His hand wraps around the doorknob, and he starts to turn it, but she’s wrapped in a towel. I can’t let him in there. I leap over the back of the couch, and put myself between him and the door. I push his chest back and point toward his bedroom door.

“I need to apologize,” he says. He’s grimacing, and his face is flushed. He didn’t mean it. Well, he did mean it. But he didn’t. “I didn’t know she was there.”

I sign the word tomorrow. I place my hands on his chest and push him back gently. I couldn’t manhandle Paul even if I wanted to. He’s a great big son of a bitch. Even bigger than me. And twice as mean. Tomorrow I say again. I got this. I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her you didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.

He nods and runs a frustrated hand across the stubble he calls hair. “Sorry,” he says.

I nod, and let myself into my bedroom. I lean back against the door. I expect to see her angry and throwing things. Or crying. I really don’t know what to expect. I don’t know her well enough to have a clue. She’s doing neither. She’s standing there looking at me. She unrolls the towel from her hair and her locks spill down over her shoulders. Her hair is all wet and tangled and she fluffs it with the towel, blotting it dry. She looks at me, but she hasn’t said anything yet.

“He didn’t mean that,” I start.

“I think he’s right,” she says. Then she raises her arms, pulls the towel free of where it’s tucked between her tits, and drops it to the floor. She kicks it across the room with her delicate little naked toe. She’s starkly, completely, beautifully, perfectly, delectably naked. “I think you should fuck me and get it out of your system. Then you can be done with me.”

I’m shaking like a leaf, and I desperately want to cross my arms over my chest. But I force myself to stand there. He looks at my pointed toe as I kick the towel to the side. My heart leaps in my chest, kicking like an angry mule. I expect his eyes to drag up my leg, and then to the rest of me, and my body heats in anticipation of his gaze. But he doesn’t. Instead, he rushes to the closet, yanks a t-shirt from a hanger and hands it to me.

I finally do cross my arms, but it’s so that I can more effectively glare at him. He looks everywhere but at me, and then bunches the shirt up in his hands, rucking it up until he can slide it over my head. He tugs it down until my hips are covered. Then he steps back, falls against the door and takes a breath.

“Damn,” he breathes. Then he grins.

I shove my arms through the armholes of the shirt, and glare at him. He’s laughing. Seriously? I arch my brows at him. “Beg your pardon?”

He chuckles into his closed fist, and then shakes his head. “He didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He bends over at the waist, trying to catch his breath, he’s laughing that hard. I pick up a pillow and throw it at him, then sit down on the end of the bed and cross my legs. I still don’t have any panties on. And I’m too angry to care.

I just stood naked in front of this man and he’s laughing. Tears prick the backs of my lashes. “This isn’t funny,” I say.

He sits down beside me on the bed and turns my chin so that I have to face him. “I didn’t see what you said,” he tells me. His thumb touches the corner of my eye, and his brows come together in confusion. “Did Paul hurt your feelings?”

I shake my head, pinching my lips together.

He reaches over and lifts my wet hair from the collar of his shirt. “Your hair’s still wet,” he says, as he picks up a towel. I brush his hand away as he tries to dry my hair.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Stop,” I warn.

“He didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he says.

He thinks Paul hurt my feelings. What crap. Paul didn’t hurt my feelings. Logan did, when he completely ignored my offer. And he laughed.

I reach into my bag and pick up my panties, then shimmy into them. Logan looks away, and I roll my eyes. I was naked in front of him. Does he really think I care if he sees me put my panties on? I tug the blanket from the bed and glare at him for a moment, and then I open the door and head for the couch. I’ll sleep out there. It’s better than sleeping in here with a man who doesn’t want me.

Matt’s at the kitchen table with his head in his hands when I come out of the hallway. I falter and tug on the length of Logan’s shirt. He looks down at my legs and smiles. “I’ve seen more skin at the club,” he says. “You might as well be a nun.”

I sigh heavily and throw the blanket onto the edge of the couch. Then I walk into the kitchen for a cup of water. “Can I get you anything?” I ask.

He looks better today. But he still doesn’t look good. “No thanks.”

“Did you eat anything today?” I ask. Now I sound like Logan, but I can’t help it.

“I did,” he says with a nod.

“Did you keep it down?” I tilt my head and look at him.

“Some of it,” he admits.

Logan walks out of the bedroom and skids to a halt in the kitchen. He looks from Matt to me and back again. He signs something to Matt.

“Dude, you can’t talk around her unless you want me to interpret,” Matt warns.

Logan clenches his hands together and bites his lips just as hard. He looks like he wants to say something. But he can’t. Not with Matt there. “Go to bed, Logan,” I say.

Logan shakes his head. He starts to sign, and Matt starts to talk. “He doesn’t want you to sleep on the couch,” Matt says. Matt sighs heavily. He gets to his feet. “How do you two communicate normally?” he asks, exasperated.

I can’t tell him that Logan talks to me. So, I just shrug. Everyone else in this family shrugs all the time. I might as well take up the habit. Become a master at evasion. “He can go fuck himself,” I say. “I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“Shit, man, what did you do?” Matt asks.

Logan signs something quickly.

“Damn. You should make Paul sleep on the couch.” He chuckles. “Seems like he deserves it.”

Logan stalks back into his room. Matt looks at me, grinning. “You’re turning him inside out,” he says.

Apparently not. He didn’t even look at me when I was naked.

“What are your intentions with Logan?” he asks. His voice is quiet. He’s not threatening me. I think he’s genuinely curious.

“I don’t have any intentions. He tossed me over his shoulder both times I’ve been here. It’s not like I had much choice in the matter.”

“You could have said no,” Matt clarifies. He holds up a hand to stop me when I open my mouth to talk. “Paul was just trying to protect him. He’s never brought a girl home before. Not one he really likes.”

“I’m the first one he won’t sleep with, I guess,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.

Matt nods. “Yes, you are. That means you’re special.” He tweaks my nose as he walks by and I make a face at him. He has cancer. I can’t be mad at him. Particularly not when he’s being so sweet. He turns back to face me. “He’s never wanted something real with a girl. Give him time to explore it before you start expecting more from him.”

“That’s just it,” I argue. “I don’t expect anything.”

“Yes, you do.” He looks sorry for me, and it pisses me off.

“Apparently, I’m the only girl in the city of New York that he won’t sleep with.” I harrumph like a two year old who just dropped her ice cream.

“I can’t believe I’m discussing my brother’s lack of sexual appetite with his girlfriend,” Matt mutters.

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

“Oh, honey,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re his first girlfriend.”

I turn to look toward Logan’s room. I don’t know what to do.

“Don’t fuck with him,” Matt warns. He’s suddenly very direct. And the intensity in his face is almost scary. “And don’t break his heart.”

“He’d have to love me for that to be an issue.”

Matt snorts. “You’re clueless, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Apparently,” I say.

Matt wraps my head in his arm and squeezes me against him, rubbing my head playfully with his knuckles. He stops and sniffs me. “You smell good,” he says. He laughs. “We don’t have much around here that smells good.”

“Thank you,” I grumble.

He pops me on the tail and points me toward Logan’s room. “Go talk to him,” he says.

I yelp and look back at him over my shoulder. I can’t believe he just did that.

“That was a ‘get your ass in the game’ smack. Not an ‘I want to see you naked’ smack,” he warns. I didn’t doubt what he meant.

“I don’t mess with Logan’s women,” he says. He told me that the first night.

“It’s a brother thing,” we both say at the same time.

Matt grins. “Exactly,” he says.

When I walk in Logan’s room, he’s laying back on the bed with his arm laid over his eyes. He doesn’t look up when I walk in, so I touch his knee. He uncovers his eyes and lifts his head, looking up at me. His blue eyes blink for a moment, and then he sits up. He tangles his fingers with mine and pulls me closer to him. “Don’t sleep on the couch,” he says.

“Matt says we should wake Paul up and let him sleep on the couch.”

Logan’s eyes get wider and he smiles. “I like that idea. But I would rather sleep with you any day.”

“You could have fooled me,” I spit out.

“What?” he asks. Could he not see my lips? Or did he not understand what I said?

“I was standing stark naked in front of you, Logan. And you didn’t have any interest in me.” I hold up a hand to stop him when he opens his mouth. “I get it. You don’t have feelings like that for me. It’s all right.”

Suddenly, Logan jerks my hand, rolling me gently onto the bed. His body covers mine, and his face is a breath away from me. “You think I don’t like you that way?” he asks. He’s looking into my face like he’ll find something he’s missing there.

“You laughed at me.”

“I laughed because the one girl I do want to fuck is naked in my room and I can’t have her!” he growls. “It’s like divine intervention.”

He wiggles a knee between my knees and kicks my legs open wider. He settles there between my thighs and rocks forward so that he presses against my panties. He’s hard. So hard.

“I was naked and you wouldn’t even look at me,” I start. I close my eyes.

“I didn’t want to disrespect you,” he says.

He rocks his hips against me again, and this time the length of him notches against my cleft. My breath catches.

“I want you so bad it hurts.” His voice is quiet, and harder to understand than it normally is.

“You didn’t even look at me,” I protest.

He sits up on his knees and lifts my leg up by his shoulder. He’s not looking at my body. “You have pink toenail polish. And you have a bit of stubble on your legs.” He grins. “You can use my razor if you want.” His hand slides up my calf, toward my knee, leaving a wake of goose bumps behind. “Your thighs are firm, and you have a generous flare to your hips. His hand slips to the front of my panties, where he drags his thumb back and forth for a moment. “You have this tiny dusting of hair, here.” His thumb presses against my cleft and I arch my back to press harder against him. He chuckles. His hands drift up my sides, lifting the shirt. He tugs it up, until it rests just beneath my breasts. He presses a kiss to my belly. My nipples are hard and standing tall. He licks his lips. “Your nipples are pink and puffy and perfect. And your breasts will fit in my hands.” He throws the shirt back down, groaning as he lies back down on top of me, rocking his length against me again. “I saw everything,” he says. “I was just trying to be a gentleman.” He laughs. “You thought I didn’t look.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “Silly woman,” he scolds.

“You looked.” That’s all I can say. And it comes out as a croak. Thank God he can’t hear the quiver in my voice.

“I looked,” he admits. “You were naked. And so fucking beautiful that I could barely breathe. Of course, I looked.”

“You look at a lot of naked women?” I don’t want the answer to that question after it’s out of my mouth.

“Not anymore,” he breathes against my lips. His lips touch mine, tentatively, and then he retreats. He’s making me crazy. His hips press insistently, pushing him closer and closer to my heat. “I haven’t seen a single naked woman since the day I met you.”

“Do you want to see any naked women?” I ask. My voice is still doing that quavery thing. His hand lies on my throat, almost like he’s listening with his fingertips for the sound of my voice.

He shakes his head, looking directly into my eyes. “Just one.”

I reach down to tug his shirt over my head, but he stops me with a grunt.

“What?” I ask.

He looks into my eyes. “What’s your name?” he asks.

This time, it’s me who throws her arm over her eyes. I want to scream. I can’t tell him anything. “I can’t tell you,” I say.

He tugs the shirt back down around my hips. “Then your clothes stay on.” He kisses me, his lips nibbling at mine until I’m breathless. “And so do mine.”

“Your brother said you should fuck me and get it over with.”

He heaves a sigh. “That’s because he thinks I’ll fuck you and not want to see you anymore. But I can assure you, that’s not the case.” He presses against me again, rocking against my cleft, the ridge of his manhood pressing against my softness. “Once I get to be inside you, I’ll never want to give you up.” He kisses the side of my neck, suckling gently as he moves across the front of my throat. His five o’clock shadow abrades my tender skin. But I don’t want him to stop.

I reach down to cup him through his jeans, and he stills.

“Don’t play with me,” he warns. His voice is strong but quiet. “If you want to be my friend, you can be my friend. We can sleep in the same bed, we can have meals together, and we can spend time doing things we both like.”

I lift his head so that he’s looking at me. “I want to be your friend,” I say.

“I want you to be my girlfriend.”

“What does that mean?” I cry, slapping the bed with my open palms in frustration.

He looks confused. “I’m not sure. But I think it’s the same as being my friend, but I get to make you come.” He rocks against me once again. Then he lifts away. I want to scream.

“Where are you going?”

“To get the blanket off the couch. Unless you want me to sleep out there?” He looks unsure.

I want him inside me. But that’s not going to happen. “Go get the blanket,” I grumble. He chuckles and leaves the room.

My panties are wet. Soaked. I reach into my bag and put on a fresh pair. I’m adjusting them over my hips when he walks back in the room.

“Fresh panties,” I explain. “All your fault,” I taunt.

He groans, and flops back on the bed. “Why did you have to tell me that?” he asks. He lays there for a minute with his hands clenched. Then he motions me forward and pulls my head down to lie on his chest. He takes a deep breath and hugs me to him tightly, then releases me and relaxes. He picks up a book from beside his night stand and holds it in one hand. He reads quietly to himself.

“What are you reading?” I ask.

He looks down at it and tells me the title. “Will you read it to me?” I ask.

He lifts his head long enough to look at my face and finds that I’m serious. I can learn. And I love books. I just can’t read them. I have an amazing memory.

“Start at the beginning?” I ask.

He turns to page one and begins to read. I settle against him, wrapping my arms around his chest, snuggling as tightly against him as I can. And he reads. His voice is strong and sure, and he reads long into the night, long after he’s yawning, because I don’t want him to stop. When he finally lays the book to the side, I roll toward him and he turns to face me. He tucks me beneath his chin and I can hear his heart beating in his chest. “When you’re ready for what I want,” he says, “let me know.”

I’m ready. I’m ready now. But I’m not ready for the same thing he is. I nod against his chest, and he heaves a sigh. His lips touch the top of my head, soft as a whisper.

***

I wake up the next day and lift my head. Sunlight pours into the room, and I know I’ve slept much later than I normally would. But then again, we were up really late last night reading. My heart clenches inside my chest when I realize that he hasn’t used his voice in eight years, but he spent hours last night reading to me. It makes me feel warm all over, and I look around, wondering where he is. The bed is empty, and there’s not even an impression of his head on the pillow. That’s probably because we shared the same space last night. I draped myself across his chest, and then we adjusted, and I had my head on his belly. All the time he read, his fingers had trailed across one body part of mine or the other. It was a tiny tickle, but it touched the center of me.

I know he wasn’t unaffected by it. He was rock hard, and he had to ball the covers up in his lap more than once. But he ignored it. I ignored it. I wanted to reach over and touch him, but he doesn’t want that from me. He wants all of me. And I’m not free to give it away. I’ll never be free.

Дата добавления: 2014-12-24