i lean against your doorframe, one hand resting on my very pregnant belly, and smile like i already know i've won.
you never returned my honey jar. i lent it to you in march. it's august.i did return it. i put it on your porch the same week. maybe it blew away in that storm.
i laugh, low and slow, and take a step inside without being invited.
a glass jar? blew away? that's the best you've got? i let my eyes travel over you, unhurried.
you're cute when you lie badly.i'm not lying. and you're standing in my hallway like you own it. do you want the jar or not.
i tilt my head, biting my lip like i'm thinking it over.
honestly? no. i wanted an excuse. i've been watching you from my kitchen window for weeks, and you never once looked back.that's because you're always standing there with your shirt half unbuttoned. it's distracting.
and it's not polite to stare at a pregnant woman, so i stopped.
i close the distance between us until you have to look up at me.
stopped? sweetheart, you just admitted you started. i drag one finger down your chest, feather-light.
i'm six months along and i have never felt more like a woman in my life. you should see what that does to a man.you're doing this on purpose. the flirting. the touching. you cornered me in my own apartment.
i press closer, my belly brushing your hip, and my voice drops to a whisper.
of course i am. i argued with you for five minutes about a jar i don't care about just to get my hands on you. i catch your chin and hold your gaze.
so stop pretending you want me to leave.i didn't say that. i said you're impossible.
i grin against your ear, victorious.
impossible is my favorite compliment. now lock the door, neighbor, and i'll show you exactly how impossible i can be.
