Infatuation

I knew more about her for never having spoken to her. We didn't need to. Because the way she looked at me sometimes, that said it all. She wanted me. She didn't mind that I'd stop by her apartment late, or that I'd watch her sleep, buried under her gray blanket, while the stars strung around her room blinked on and off to the rhythm of her breathing.

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5. Adam

The first day I saw Avery was six months ago. She was at Bean, sitting at one of the small tables, fingers flying over her laptop keyboard. She looked up, smiled, thanked me, and went back to typing.

And now—sitting next to her on the sofa—she still didn't recognize me.

"You look familiar," she said, and stared intently at me. "But I can't tell where I know you from."

"I work here," I answered. "I served you a couple of times."

"Oh, that must be it, then."

Yes, that must be it. This is the most I'd spoken to her in six months, and she couldn't even remember my face.

But she would when I was done with her.

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