First it was little

First it was little run-ins at the studio. Me getting a drink and him cornering me.

“You should be with me.”

“Stop.”

“You know he can’t make you feel the way I do.”

“What, cheated on and miserable?”

“Never again, Kaitlyn, I swear it.”

“You do a lot of swearing, I’ll give you that.”

“I know how to make you say things that’d make your little boy scout blush. Do you talk dirty to him in bed, like you used to do to me?”

“Get away from me,” I seethed, trying to push past him – because, unfortunately, it was turning me on to remember the things he used to say to me, the things he used to do to me.

“Kiss me,” he whispered in my ear. “You know you want to.”

I had to dump water, soda, even coffee on him to get him to leave me alone.

But he just came back for more.

His presence… his intensity… his sexual mojo, whatever you want to call it… his smell, the pheromones he was putting out, matched with a hint of his cologne – unhh –

It was beginning to wear me down.

So I stopped going out of the co