The strong scent of alcohol mixed with the crisp night air hit me as Hector pulled me into a tight embrace. His arms were firm, his voice soft, almost pleading.
I froze. I didn’t dare hug him back. This moment, this tenderness, didn’t feel like it belonged to me—it felt stolen.
“Hector, you’re drunk. I don’t think—”
Before I could finish, his lips pressed against mine, silencing my words.
My eyes widened in shock as his warm, insistent touch sent waves rippling through me—waves I knew I shouldn’t feel. I parted my lips slightly, and he seized the moment, his kiss growing desperate and unyielding, as though he wanted to consume me completely.
He didn’t release me until I was breathless.
“Don’t leave, okay? I miss you so much.”
His kisses trailed from my forehead to the tip of my nose, then to my cheeks and neck. His touch was tender and achingly gentle—an intimacy I’d never experienced before.
I was greedy for it, for him.
I found myself wondering: What would she do in this situation? What would fake Edna do?
So, I mimicked her. With a playful shove, I pushed him away, feigning a pout. “Next time you drink this much, I’ll ignore you!”
I imitated her so perfectly.