Paul walked into the kitchen wearing jeans and a dark blue polo shirt. His feet were bare and, for some strange reason, that turned me on. Then again, he could have walked into the room in a hazmat suit and I would have been turned on.
He sat down at the table across from me. “You have to stop this.”
“I can’t help it.” It was a weak defense, but the only one I could come up with at the moment.
“Yes, you can. We both can. We have to.”
“I’ve tried to stay away from you.”
“Why? Because you can’t control yourself when you’re with me?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus,” he said, shaking his head. “This is worse than I thought. I knew you had feelings for me, but I had no idea things were this bad.”
“I can’t stop thinking about you. I still want you and I believe you want me too, don’t you?”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. The answer was written all over his face.
“Are you forcing me to choose between you and your mother?” he asked.