2
Maya.
I told myself I wouldn’t think about Caleb. That after what happened in the elevator—his body pressed to mine, his mouth hot and wild and desperate—I’d get it out of my system. That the need would fade with a little distance, some time, maybe a cold shower or two. I was wrong. The memory of his hands, the taste of his skin, the way he’d looked at me like he already owned me—all of it haunted me. I couldn’t sit still. I couldn’t concentrate. Every song on the radio felt dirty. Every flicker of the hallway lights made my pulse skip.
By midnight, I was pacing my apartment like a caged animal, lights low, trying not to look at his door. I told myself I was pathetic. Obsessive. But knowing that didn’t make me stop. I kept replaying the moment his fingers had pushed aside my shorts, t
