Our every complex human emotion, bottled up inside our bodies, our minds and souls and hearts.
Every member of every ethnicity, every human in the past and the present and every one in the future wants to feel like this. The way I feel right now, just a girl hoping and craving, dying to see him, praying the guy she loves loves her back.
My throat is so tight I can’t talk when I step out. His four assistants lift their heads from their computer screens. “I’m . . . here to see—”
“One moment,” Catherine tells me.
I’m standing here wondering if he’ll smell like I remember, look at me like I remember. If he’ll smile or frown, if he’ll hate me forever, if he thinks of me at all. If he misses me at all.
It doesn’t matter so long as he sees me right now. That’s all I want, to look into his face again. Hear his voice.
Finally Catherine hangs up and nods at me as she walks to the door and pushes it open for me, and I walk inside.
To be continued in the next Manwhore book . . .