It wasn't real. Not the jokes about whether nose size was predictive of penis size, and how could it be in his case because his pants would never fit.
Not the tentative brush of fingers over nipples.
Not the kisses sharp with the taste of red wine.
Not the gasps and embraces and the rustling of sheets.
Not until she turned on the light and left her dark glasses folded on the nighttable.
"Miss Goldberg --"
"No. Not to you." Another kiss, the first real one. They both had their eyes open.
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