He wasn't going to think about it. He wasn't going to remember how he felt when she told him she didn't take the cure. He wasn't going to question why it pleased him, the idea that no one could touch her. He didn't want anyone touching her and he knew why, but he wasn't going to think about it. He wasn't going to picture that
look in her eyes when he said he was proud of her, she didn't need to change, and she was perfect the way she was. He wasn't going to remember how he felt when she touched his arm and told him she understood if he needed to leave again. "I'll see you when you get back," she said.

He wasn't going to wonder how she always seemed to know him before he knew himself. He wasn't going to think about how she always made him feel. He wasn't going to think about any of it…until he walked into that bar.

It wasn't an explosion of lust that scorches everything in its path until it's snuffed out. It was the steady burn of desire that goes on forever. It was hot and strong like the sun, and just as vital.
Was he headed home?

"Yeah, somethin' like that."