The next morning, Campbell and I hardly look at each other or even talk. Sure, we do the usual good mornings, how are you bit but that’s about it. It’s as if the clock has struck twelve and he’s on a mission to take Cinderella home seven hours too late.
He plays R&B on the radio and I busy myself by watching the city cloaked in snow pass outside the window. I wish I could rest my hand on his forearm like I used to when I had something to say or crack a dirty joke and think nothing more of it. It would have been completely normal, just two old friends hanging out.
But Campbell was right that first night. Once you get a taste of the forbidden, there’s no way you can go back to not wanting it again… and again.
Liz Durano 