..." "Me too," she said. She edged closer to me, clearing her throat. "Um," she whispered, seemingly to herself. Her eyes were gazing up at me. They were round and wide with expectation, so similar to the stare she had given me earlier. But now this was, if not love, then something near to it. Can I kiss her now? She blinked as if in affirmation, as if telepathy between men and women, that is to say mutual understanding, were possible. Her hand was sitting on the ledge before the wall of the rink near mine. I reached for it and turned to face her. I looked down at her, she up at me. The icy world of hockey around us became a great white blur. I could no longer hear her friends laughing, but that may have been the roar of the crowd at the home team's goal. My filming partner's eyes may still have been burning into us but the cold air had frozen the weight of his gaze. My other hand was on her cheek, our bodies suddenly close together. I hoped she couldn't feel my erection. Embracing,. The other day, while sitting in the lunch room, he overheard some of the other female employees talking about Betsey, and the fact that her marriage wasn’t doing well. When he heard that, Mark figured he might have the chance he was hoping for. Unlike most of the women who worked in the store, who tended to wear slacks and casual clothing to work, Betsey always dressed very well. Today she a loose black mid-calf length dress with white flower pattern that had buttons all the way down the front. It had a scooped neck and wide bell sleeves and Mark thought it looked gorgeous on her lean form. He gazed at her, captivated by the expanse of freckle-covered chest the dress displayed, and by her long, flaming hair. ‘I sure as hell would like to run my fingers through that hair,’ he thought as he sat at his desk, smiling at Betsey, who looked a bit sad. ‘Toni…she said you wanted to see me?’ Betsey said. ‘Yes, Betsey, I do,’ Mark told her. Betsey looked at the manager. He wasn’t bad-looking,.
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