September 24, I sat in the passenger seat of your silver BMW as we talked about Oprah, and you pretended not to know the song “ Red Solo Cup.”
Two strangers conversed as if they were old friends catching up. You placed your hand on my knee, and without skipping a beat I rested mine on yours.
When we parked I kept talking hoping it would calm the butterflies in my stomach, but it was too late you lifted my chin with your curled index finger and placed your lips on mine.
The butterflies exploded sending an electrifying shock throughout my body. My brain was on fire, as my lips melted into yours. You pulled away with a smile While I examined your eyes, to know if you had felt it too.
