"I want you to stop treating me like I don't exist." I said it cleanly. I stepped closer, feeling the thud of my pulse under my ribs.
"We had an arrangement," he replied. "To stay out of each other's way. We might have forgotten that for a while back there but nothing has changed." He leaned back, arms spread, as if to physically demonstrate the distance he wanted.
"But it has, Richard. We're not just two strangers playing house anymore. I consider you a good friend," I admitted—"and yet you treat me like I am just furniture. Look at me, Richard. I'm here, and I miss our conversations even though we spend half the time bickering." I forced a wry half-smile.
"You don't understand, Nita."
"Then make me understand," I said.
There was a pregnant silence. I wasn't sure what my end game was going to be—hell, I wasn't even sure if I had one—but I knew silence was going to kill me faster than any gunman ever could. So I leaned in, and kissed him. My lips barely brushed his.
