“We need to talk, Jessie, please.” He begged, but talk about what?
“Talk? About what?"
“Let’s get coffee,” he suggested.
“No, I’m not having any conversation with you. Now if you please excuse me, I have things to do.” I said and tried to walk past him, but he held me back by my hand.
“Let me go, Clinton,” I struggled.
“No!”
“Clint stop!” I yelled, and he pinned me against the door, his face staring at mine.
“So you still remember me?” He spoke, his eyes looking into mine. I felt my knees go weak for him. I bit my inner cheeks, hoping to wake me up, but it didn't. Defeated, I closed my eyes. “I know you still feel me,” he whispered.
"No, I don’t,” I lied.
“I know you do; your breathing is intense, and I can also feel your knees shaking. You miss me as much as I do.” He whispered i
