(no subject)
She was doing something arcane within the intricacies of his derailleur, while explaining the latest problem with Joe’s motorcycle. He was watching a bead of sweat slip slowly towards her collar, wanting to taste her. The heat slamming from the pavement was worse than the heat of the falling sun.
“I’d make a better boyfriend than a girlfriend,” she muttered, not quite to herself.
“Does that mean I’d have to be the girlfriend?” he asked, and watched the minute pause in the motion of her elbows.
“No,” she said, after a moment, “Why would it?”
And so it was decided.