“Look, I’m not having this conversation. Not here in the middle of the road.’ ‘Is that it? That’s your response?’ ‘Shut up,’ he said through gritted teeth. I was angry enough and unwise enough to snap back. ‘Make me.’ Something flickered in his eyes and I knew what he was going to do before he did it: a stride as smooth as a dance step, his fingers caught in my hair, his mouth on mine. Inevitable. I asked for that, I thought, stuck to the spot like a moth with a pin through it.”