“I am not that kind of girl.” I whispered brushing my lips against his cheek. I leaned in so close I could practically taste the mint gum he always loved to chew. Picking my rumpled vintage velvet purse off of the counter I dug about for my lip gloss a standard avoidance maneuver Daniel could clearly read. We knew each other well enough.
“And what kind of girl that?” He would ask, snapping his gum.
A sign of nervousness that I recognized clearly. I let the silence grow, I wanted him to feel more than the pricks and bites that tickled up and down his arms when I grabbed his fingers. I wanted more than the standard lust/love reaction.
“The kind of girl that kisses a Boy-Face in public.” I shifted in my seat letting my knee brush his.
“Don’t kiss me then. I don’t mind.”