She kissed me again, harder this time, and her hands found the hem of my shirt and started pulling it upward. I raised my arms to help her, and the fabric disappeared somewhere behind me. The air was cool against my skin, but Sabrina's hands were warm as they explored my chest, tracing the lines of muscle that daily running had built.
"You work out."
"I run. A lot."
"I know. I've seen you." Her fingers found a scar on my side, a thin line from a fight I'd gotten into at fourteen. "Where did this come from?"
"Long story."
"We have time."
I caught her wrist and pulled her hand away from the scar. "Not tonight."
Something flickered in her eyes, acceptance mixed with curiosity, but she didn't push. Instead she leaned back and reached for the hem of her own sweater.
"Fair enough. Your turn to look."
The sweater came off in one smooth motion, and my brain short-circuited.
