He stepped closer with an intense, thoughtful look on his face. “We shouldn’t do this.” Her heart gave a hard thud. “You probably can’t kiss.” Another step closer. “What does the doctor say?” “We never kissed,” she deadpanned. “Dr. Pratt and I are not interested in each other that way.” The sound of his deep laughter broke the tension between them. He moved a little closer still. “Dr. Pratt says intimacy is all right, unless the other person is sick.” She couldn’t believe she just said that. Why not put a neon sign on her forehead? DESPERATE FOR SEX. “This isn’t going to work.” He leaned his forehead against hers, the skin-to-skin contact jolting. “This isn’t the right time for either of us.” His hands slid up her arms. “I shouldn’t kiss you,” he said. And then he did. Holy heaven.

He stepped closer with an intense, thoughtful look on his face. “We shouldn’t do this.” Her heart gave a hard thud. “You probably can’t kiss.” Another step closer. “What does the doctor say?” “We never kissed,” she deadpanned. “Dr. Pratt and I are not interested in each other that way.” The sound of his deep laughter broke the tension between them. He moved a little closer still. “Dr. Pratt says intimacy is all right, unless the other person is sick.” She couldn’t believe she just said that. Why not put a neon sign on her forehead? DESPERATE FOR SEX. “This isn’t going to work.” He leaned his forehead against hers, the skin-to-skin contact jolting. “This isn’t the right time for either of us.” His hands slid up her arms. “I shouldn’t kiss you,” he said. And then he did. Holy heaven.

– Dana Marton –

Deathtrap

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