He breaks the kiss. Looking at me, I can sense a lecture, the age difference, his family, my boyfriend - well, my ex- , work... "Are you sure this is ...hat you want? How much have you had to drink?" I laugh, a hand flying up to cover my embarrassment. I stifle the laugh as quickly as it starts. "I'm tipsy, not drunk", I tell him, "and I wouldn't have come to your room at..(looking at the clock) half past one if I wasn't sure what I wanted". He stands, my hands in his. His face tells me he's. And the giveaway? The orange juice. His voice tipped in the same way as it always did, the emphasis on the not from concentrate, the way the line rolled off his tongue like he’d made the order a thousand times. And I could see it, could see him, back in the Starbucks opposite our college, across the small, freshly-cleaned table, his top two shirt buttons undone, his elbow resting on the back of his chair, his legs too long and impatient to fit neatly under the table.Fuck. It came back to me. More

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