Nemophilist

I watched as you twirled in that soft blue dress. You asked me how you looked. I said you looked ‘good’ but I meant so much more than that. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you as that boy (Chad, Brad?) dropped his hands a bit too low, setting them on the curve of your lower back. I hated him.

Though later, when we were in the back of your parents’ van, hands up my shirt, shedding clothes, hot kisses trailing down exposed skin, we both forgot his names