Cold Concrete

Jasmynn stops pretending she's going anywhere and slides her hand up the back of Carl's neck, pulling his mouth down to hers. The kiss is not gentle—it's the sound of three years of silence breaking, his teeth catching her lower lip as she gasps against him. He walks her backward until her spine hits the concrete wall, one hand flat against the cold surface beside her head, the other slipping under the hem of her uniform shirt. The bike's engine ticks as it cools, and she can feel every place his body presses into hers, the question still unspoken but forgotten for now.