And after she turned away and he could no longer see her eyes, he understood the look he had been given. Her lips hadn’t moved but somehow now – too late – he realized they were screaming desire in a number of languages, and he misinterpreted them all. He believed her when she wanted to move slowly and she reinforced this with every action; he also believed his sprint was too sudden. Why did he ask her to spend the night? What did she think he expected? What was he expecting? Questions without answers, all falling desperately through him and none being as bold as the one question he hated asking himself, but did nonetheless. Why didn’t he kiss her?