“Promise me just one thing,” she said over the crunch of Pringles between his teeth. She waited for the swallow, the contemplation over eating another.
Then she took advantage of the way his heart was facing her as he reached for the tube to strike it with her arrow:
“When you’re done with me, please tell me in no uncertain terms.”
Blink, and you would have missed the micro-hesitation of the chip en route to his mouth as he was forced to consume her words first.
“Why do you think I’d be done with you?” He asked, popping the Pringle in his mouth and letting it rest there. He waited for it to get soggy, except her request had left his mouth dry. How did she know that he knew he couldn’t let go, long after his hands had given out? It was like the cliff side of her had formed itself like handcuffs around his wrists, refusing to yield no matter how hard he tried to wrench free.