{GIANNA}
I stare after Michael's retreating form, bewildered, as the front door slams shut behind him. The roar of an engine and the crunch of gravel announce his hasty departure, and I'm left standing here like a lost duckling. Alone.
Did he… did he feel that too? That electric zing when our fingers brushed? Is that why he ran away?
Nah. Can't be. A man like that, with those looks and that swagger? No way a little spark from an accidental touch would spook him.
No way he felt what I felt.
I glance around the now empty dining room, trying to shake off the sense memory of his skin on mine. The lingering heat.
The phantom tingle.
Fuck. Get it together, girl. You're sleep deprived and running on fumes. Your brain is playing tricks on you, turning nothing into something. Stop it.
I should be using this time to take stock. Plan my next move before he gets back from wherever the hell he scurried off to.
But…
