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104 He Doesn’t, She Does He doesn’t want to think of her. Can’t risk her face showing up in his sock drawer, her butt filling his mind as salad is served. He doesn’t want to remember his face between her legs, a word she whispered on the phone, can’t risk going to sleep imagining holding her body tucked inside his, her belly flat under his hand, his mouth resting against her neck. He can’t think of her when she’s not there only in the moment when and where they touch they know what might never be, even then he doesn’t want to look; but she always seems to think of him, in the shower, in the gym, feels him floating under the covers while she’s tight in bed, turns into the pillow to crush her head. She refuses to toss him out of her dreams, 105 her body aching because it seems the chance to have him is deliciously slim. He doesn’t think of her; she thinks of him. ...

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